


Begin Again

by EclecticMuse, Traviosita9124



Series: starting over [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Season 1, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bus era, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, SciOps Era, Smut, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 110,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: A decade ago, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons met and fell in love. What should have been a fairy tale story ended in heartbreak when they found themselves caught between what they wanted most and their sworn duty to S.H.I.E.L.D. Years later, they find themselves struggling with the same question yet again after they both are recruited to Agent Phil Coulson's elite field unit. Have they learned enough in their time apart to make a difference, or will history repeat itself?
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Series: starting over [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835743
Comments: 167
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So Traviosita and I (EclecticMuse) have been doing RP threads for a couple of years now and decided to dust a few off and post here as fic. This is the first one, a full season 1 AU based on the premise of Fitz and Jemma having been involved at SciOps but it ending in disaster. We hope you enjoy it! We plan on updating twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Warning will be given ahead of time for chapters with explicit content.

_From: Maria Hill <m.hill@shield.gov>  
_ To: All Science Operations Agents  
 _Date: April 13, 2007  
_ Subject: S.H.I.E.L.D. Policies and Protocols 

_Agents,_

_This email is to serve as a reminder that all agents, regardless of field status or clearance, are expected to be in full compliance with all sections of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Handbook at all times. Failure to do so will result in disciplinary action, and potential dismissal from the agency._

_Any questions regarding this email, or the policies in question, should be referred to your Division Head._

_Maria Hill_

Jemma reread the email, chewing on her bottom lip, before looking up from her computer monitor. There were a few lab techs gathered at the far end of the lab, huddled in a tight circle with their heads bent together, and she could only guess what they were discussing: the same email that she had just read, the one that had most of SciOps buzzing.

Policy reminders weren’t uncommon at S.H.I.E.L.D., an organization that relied on rules and regulation; it was the timing that had everyone talking. Just the day before Henderson and Martinez, two popular and well-known agents who also happened to be in a romantic relationship with each other, had suddenly been split up and reassigned to separate facilities for no apparent reason.

The rumor circulating the halls was that they had been served a Section 17, a regulation which forbade fraternization between agents who worked together. Normally, it was enforced rather loosely--it was viewed as more of a guideline rather than a strict rule--but Henderson and Martinez being separated, followed by this email, meant that something serious must have happened.

It didn’t bode well for Jemma. She, too, was in a relationship with a fellow agent--her lab partner, in fact. She turned in her seat to look over her shoulder at him where he stood near his own computer station, and felt dread and worry settle in her stomach like a block of wet concrete. Then she bit back a sigh. She needed to focus on the work they needed to get done that day. Giving the gossiping agents one more glance, she pushed back from her desk and stood, making her way over to Fitz. She tried her best to project an air of cheer and confidence, hoping her anxiety wouldn’t show through

“So! How is your work coming along?” 

Fitz turned just enough to give Jemma a pointed look before refocusing his attention back on his computer screen. He had the email up as well, the one that everyone was gossiping about and had turned his guts to cement. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together; S.H.I.E.L.D. had decided to make sure its agents were playing by their rules, and they were going to enforce them. 

His initial instinct was to reach for Jemma’s hand, to reassure her with a gentle squeeze that they were still all right, but he resisted the urge. They’d been careful to maintain professionalism in the lab. There were no clandestine trips into storage closets or late nights that had to be deleted off CCTV, but it was widely known that they lived together and had for many years. He had thought that’d be enough, but with Hill’s email before him, Fitz was left to wonder if his belief wasn’t in vain. 

“Work’s fine,” he murmured to her, voice pitched low to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. “I have those simulations runnin’. They should be ready this afternoon. Did y’-” Fitz found it suddenly hard to speak and gave a small cough as he nodded toward his screen. He didn’t really want to broach the subject, but if he knew Jemma, her nerves were likely frazzled. If he didn’t give her an outlet, she’d bottle them, and that was no good for anyone.

“D’ we need t’ go out for lunch today? So we can talk…?”

Jemma’s eyes flicked toward his computer, then back toward the other agents who were still talking on the other end of the lab, and her mouth pressed down into a thin line. Of course he’d seen the email too, and of course he was just as unsettled as she was, even if he processed it differently. “Yes,” she said, “we should--” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath and giving a sharp, decisive nod. “That would be good, I think. Yes. Lunch would be lovely.”

For a moment she looked as if she wanted to say something else, but in the end she just gave him a small smile, though it was strained. Then she straightened.

“I’ve got just a few more titration results to finish logging, and I’ll be able to submit those reports for the week,” she said, resorting back to business-like efficiency. “Then we can start discussing potential applications for our latest designs while we wait for the simulations to finish, if you like.”

Jemma had never been able to conceal her emotions, and while that was something Fitz typically found endearing, it did nothing to calm his nerves now. It also made it that much more tempting to give in to his need to touch her. Instead of reaching for her hand, Fitz leaned his shoulder into Jemma’s, just enough to reassure them both without crossing the boundary they’d worked so hard to establish at work. 

“Sounds good. Go on and handle that. I’ll find the blueprints we were workin’ on earlier. With any luck, we can have potential applications for one on paper before we break for lunch.”

Fitz did his best to smile at her as he nodded Jemma back to her own station, but he was afraid it didn’t fully reach his eyes. He sighed and gave himself a little shake. There was no use worrying about what the higher ups at S.H.I.E.L.D. had in mind since they would do as they pleased regardless of what he thought. What Fitz did find comforting was the fact that he had Jemma in his corner. As long as she was on his side, they would figure something out.

That brief shoulder bump went a way toward easing Jemma’s nerves, sending a wash of calm through her as she turned to go back to her computer. It was a tactile reminder that they were a unit, a team, and that there wasn’t anything they couldn’t solve as long as they were together.

But being together--romantically, at least--well, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Jemma was able to get through the rest of the morning by focusing on their work and by putting up a front of professional calm, but by the time their usual lunch hour rolled around, her inner thoughts were in turmoil. Her shoulders were hunched and her gait stiff as she and Fitz made their way down the halls toward the front entrance of the building. It didn’t help that she overheard more fragments of conversation about Henderson and Martinez, and she didn’t think she imagined the curious, knowing looks turned in their direction. She and Fitz didn’t flaunt their relationship, but everyone knew they were together.

Once they were outside and walking down the sidewalk toward the cafe they frequented, Jemma relaxed slightly, but not enough that she could bring herself to take Fitz’s hand like she might normally have. She felt on edge, like prying eyes from S.H.I.E.L.D. could be anywhere. But that didn’t stop her from walking close to him, though, enough for their shoulders to brush. After a few moments of silence, she looked aside at him.

“So...what do you think?” 

Fitz held open the door to their lunch spot and gestured for Jemma to enter, buying him time. He could tell she was feeling off from the moment they left their lab, and her nerves were feeding into his own. He took a deep breath to try to hold them off, but it wasn’t working. 

“About that email, Henderson and Martinez, or both? I mean, there’s no way they’re not related, right?”

“No, probably not,” she replied, looking over at him as they got in line at the counter. He seemed to be just as discomfited as she felt. But now that they were indoors, away from work, she allowed herself the small luxury of leaning slightly into him, and sighed quietly at the feeling of his familiar warmth. “You heard what the others were saying, didn’t you? That they were given a Section 17?”

Just saying the words made dread rise in her stomach again. 

Fitz’ hand automatically drifted to Jemma’s shoulder, seeking another point of contact. He set out to make sure he was never intentionally needy, but with the weirdness swirling today, he decided to cut himself some slack on that front. He could feel the tension in Jemma’s shoulders, and he gave her a little squeeze, hoping that might be enough until he could properly rub her shoulders at home. 

“They actually handed that down?” Fitz wasn’t sure if he was more skeptical or frightened. “Has that ever happened before?” Even when they were at the Academy, Section 17 had felt more like a boogeyman: something their superiors trotted out when they needed the cadets to maintain focus, but not something to actually be taken seriously. “I can’t see why they’d do tha. Were they fallin’ behind on their work?”

Jemma leaned a little more into him as his hand came to rest on her shoulder, taking comfort from the gesture. Then she nodded, pursing her lips.

“That seems to be the consensus, from what I’ve heard though--you know how unreliable office gossip can be.” Still, if enough people seemed to think it was true… She shook her head, as if to clear it. “I can’t see any reason for it. They’re exemplary agents, everyone knows that. Their work always exceeds standards. Something serious must have happened. But I can’t for the life of me imagine what that must have been.” Her voice dropped as she looked down. “The order must have come as quite a shock.”

Fitz grunted in agreement as they moved further up the line. He waited for Jemma to place her order before giving his own to the woman behind the counter and handing his card over. The transaction completed, he trailed behind Jemma to the pick up area. 

“You’d think we’d have heard if somethin’ serious had happened. I mean, the way gossip runs through our labs, there’s no way it would have been kept secret.” Fitz tucked his wallet back into his pocket with a shrug. “Maybe it wasn’t their work. Maybe they, uh, let things get heated in the lab. I imagine givin’ Harris and the security team an eyeful would catch someone’s attention.”

Jemma chewed her lip thoughtfully as she tapped her fingers against the counter, keeping an eye out for their orders. “You’re right. Something--well, _bad_ enough to warrant this severe a disciplinary action probably wouldn’t be able to be kept quiet for long.” Then she wrinkled her nose at the idea of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s stodgy security team being subjected to anything along the likes of what Fitz was suggesting, and couldn’t help the awkward laugh that bubbled out of her.

“Oh, surely that wouldn’t be enough to--I mean, even if they did, they wouldn’t be the first--” She trailed off as her cheeks went pink. Just because she and Fitz had managed to successfully compartmentalize their relationship didn’t mean the urge had never been there, or that she’d never had to fight it off. Working in close quarters with her boyfriend for so long hadn’t been without its temptations. They’d shared more than one heated glance across the lab.

She was interrupted by their order numbers being called, and she grabbed their food before winding her way through the cafe to find an empty table. Once they were seated, Jemma gave Fitz a worried look. “Honestly, getting handsy in the lab is a relatively minor infraction, all things considered, don’t you think? Nothing bad enough to deserve--” She shuddered. “Being reassigned to different facilities hundreds of miles apart.”

Despite the serious subject matter, Fitz couldn’t help but smile at Jemma’s expressions as she worked through what had been suggested. Although she was often irked by having such a readable face, he found it endearing. The fact that it made a day that was decidedly unusual feel a tad more normal was just another perk. 

“I’d like t’ think it wouldn’t be that big a deal, true, but we don’t know how often they were warned.” Like most government agencies, S.H.I.E.L.D. had regular operating hours, and most of the agents adhered to them. However, they also encouraged overtime where required, something nearly every one of their coworkers at SciOps knew well. “I mean, how often d’ any of us pull late nights in the lab? If they did it repeatedly, and asked for overtime pay, I could see why that would irk the higher ups.”

Fitz paused to unwrap his sandwich and took a large bite. He was nearly always hungry, but his nerves regarding the situation at work had only made it worse. He took the time to chew and swallow before adding, “It still sucks, though. Have y’ heard where they’re bein’ sent?”

Jemma listened as Fitz laid out his reasoning, and she had to admit that he had a good point. That was one of the things she loved best about him: when her fretting over the fine details and minutiae threatened to send her into an anxious spiral, he would ground her with simple logic and facts. If their coworkers had been split up for something like repeated unreasonable demands for overtime pay, it made her feel slightly better than if it were for the plain fact that they were in a relationship. It wasn’t enough to reassure her completely, but it _was_ enough to let her shoulders relax slightly and spear a forkful of salad. She shook her head as she chewed.

“No,” she said after she swallowed. “I didn’t linger long enough for that bit of gossip. I only heard that it was a fairly large distance. It’s likely one of them is being sent out of the country.” She frowned as she looked down at her plate, moving her food around with her fork, unsure if she should give thought to the worries lurking in her mind. In the end, she hedged around it. “I can’t imagine what being split up like that so suddenly would be like.”

“Jemma, hey,” Fitz called, pulling her attention away from her plate. Without thinking twice, he set his food aside and reached for her, laying his hand over Jemma’s. She looked so forlorn at the thought of being separated that it left Fitz feeling short of breath. He couldn’t protect Jemma from something their employer decided to do. But damned if he wouldn’t do everything possible in his power to try. 

“We won’t be split up. I promise. No, really,” Fitz insisted when he caught the look on Jemma’s face. “Think about it. We keep our overtime t’ a minimum. Our projects are always ahead o’ schedule and we’ve never done anythin’ at work t’ make them think our bein’ together puts the agency in jeopardy.”

What Fitz didn’t give voice to was the niggling doubt that the same could be said of Henderson and Martinez. Really, the only thing that put Fitz and Jemma into a different class entirely was the fact that they were the youngest SciTech graduates in 50 years. Hopefully S.H.I.E.L.D. would want a pair of prodigies more than they’d want to enforce Section 17.

“I mean it, Jemma. We’ve been careful. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Her eyes snapped up to his as his hand fell over hers, and her breath caught at the earnestness in his gaze. Before she could overthink it, she twisted her hand so she could push her fingers through his, linking their hands together. Despite her worry, her heart swelled with affection for Fitz and his efforts to try and soothe her fears.

“You really think so?” she asked, more vulnerable and open in that moment than she intended to be. Then, before he could answer, she squeezed his hand and gave a soft, short laugh. “No, you’re right. We’ve done everything that’s been asked of us and more. They’d be fools to split us up. I’m sorry, I…” She braved a smile for him. “You know how I can be.”

“I do, Jemma. I really, really do. And it’s no’ just you. There’s reason t’ be nervous, but all it means is that we need t’ be even more careful. We’ll jus’ make sure we’re beyond reproach. Together, yeah?”

The easy way the words rolled off Fitz’ tongue made it all seem so simple, even though he knew that things within a spy organization were rarely that straightforward. Fitz was hesitant to release her hand, his fingertips catching briefly against hers before they both returned to their lunches. The tension had eased a bit, but the implicit threat in that morning’s email still lingered over the pair of scientists. 

“Yeah. Together.”

And it was easy to believe him in that moment, with the way his eyes shone brightly at her and the firm assurance in his voice, the way he smiled at her. 

But it didn’t stay that way for long.

As the days following Henderson and Martinez’s separation passed, the original worry and fear that had bothered Jemma took root and grew like a horrible seed, filling her with dread and despair. She had always been one to follow the rules to the letter, and with the confirmation that Henderson and Martinez had indeed been hit with a Section 17, her devotion and commitment to Fitz found itself at odds with her intrinsic need to be a good, policy-abiding agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

She wouldn’t leave Fitz. There was no question of that. But what if she was forced to, what if the agency decided to serve them with a Section 17 as well and they were separated to opposite ends of the globe? The very idea was unbearable. She couldn’t conceive of a life without him; she loved him far too much. Almost from the moment they had first met, it had been the two of them against the world, and she was willing to do anything to keep him with her.

It didn’t help that it felt like their coworkers now spent an inordinate amount of time whispering about _them._ More than once she’d walked into the lab or the break room to find some of her fellow agents hastily breaking off a conversation and shooting her guilty looks. She could only guess what they were talking about: wondering if, or when, she and Fitz would face disciplinary action for their own relationship.

She began to stress over when their SO would visit the lab, wondering if each time he was there it was to summon them into a meeting to inform them of their separation. She dreaded the ping of her email notification, afraid to look and see if each new message was from their SO saying the same thing.

Jemma tried her best to keep her growing fear from Fitz, not wanting him to worry as well, but it was hard; it was beginning to consume her, overtaking her entire life. The stress of waiting for the hatchet to fall was affecting her appetite and sleep, and worst of all, she was afraid it was beginning to affect her relationship with Fitz. Despite her attempts to hide her worries, she knew he’d noticed, and her constant anxiety had made her jumpy and irritable. It wasn’t fair on him and, after a long bout of self-castigation, Jemma reminded herself that they were a team. Together, they could face anything. It was time to come clean.

One night after dinner, once she’d finished putting away the rinsed and dried dishes, she walked hesitantly out to the living room, where she’d shooed Fitz away to go sit on the sofa. She took a moment to watch him from behind, before taking a deep breath and coming to stand near the edge of the sofa, twisting her hands together at her waist. “Fitz? Can we talk?”

He’d glanced away from the TV to smile at Jemma as soon as she began hovering near the sofa, only to have the dread that had been floating in his gut solidify all at once. 

As much as Fitz may have joked about his inability to take a hint or read a room, the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t as oblivious as he may have seemed. Certainly not when it came to Jemma. He knew her mind as well as he knew his own, and the fact that she had been drifting into herself hadn’t been lost on him. Their homelife certainly wasn’t what it had been since they first moved in together. 

Fitz could have overlooked the change in her eating and sleeping patterns - it wouldn’t have been the first time one of them went out of sorts given their line of work, and Jemma had always self-corrected in the past. But she had still always been affectionate with him in those instances, with lingering kisses and looking for an excuse to touch him in some way, even if she wasn’t in the mood for more than that. That usually worked itself out, too, once they had met their deadlines and could take the time to focus on each other once more. 

But lately her kisses had become business like, even in the privacy of their home, and the few signs of affection they’d permitted themselves at work had disappeared entirely. Fitz had been doing his level best to forget about Section 17 since the news about Henderson and Martinez broke, but it seemed that Jemma hadn’t. It was the only explanation he could think of for her odd behavior, and he didn’t find that comforting in the least. 

“O’ course we can, Jemma,” he answered with far more bravado than he actually felt before shutting off the television and reaching for her hand. Fitz tried to give her a reassuring smile as he tugged her to sit next to him on the sofa, but he couldn’t quite get it to reach his eyes. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.” 

Jemma returned his grip on her hand, perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary, and gave him a wavering, uncertain smile back as she sat down beside him. She was nervous that he wouldn’t react well to what she had to say, and it was a long, awkward moment of her staring at him, her mouth working silently, before she could force anything past her lips.

“I...I think we need to prepare for the possibility of a Section 17,” she said in a rush, bringing her other hand up to wrap both of hers around his, as if she were afraid he’d pull away. 

Fitz’ heart stopped with Jemma’s admission. He had managed to push the majority of those thoughts away, confident that they were being careful enough to not draw attention to themselves. Clearly that hadn’t been enough for Jemma, though, not with the grip she had on his hand or the way her voice wavered. 

“Section 17?” His voice was shamefully tight, but Fitz couldn’t bring himself to actually care. “Why d’ you think- why would we need t’ worry about that? I mean, everythin’ has been quiet, right?”

“Has it?” Jemma couldn’t help the way her voice went a bit high from stress. “I’ve heard people talking, I--I think they’re expecting it to be _us_ next. I mean--no one’s come out and expressly said anything yet, but I’ve seen the way they’ve been looking at us ever since Henderson and Martinez got split up, it’s like they’re _waiting_.” She paused, swallowing thickly, and looked down at where her thumb was rubbing back and forth across the back of his hand. “And, for all that it’s never really been enforced before, it _is_ a rule that they seemed rather keen to apply to them. What if it’s not just them? What if we _are_ next?”

“People talk, Jemma,” Fitz snapped, his own emotions getting the better of him. “that's what they do. They get bored with their lives and gossip.” 

He hated that he’d used that tone with her. Fitz knew how anxious Jemma could be; this wasn’t easy for her, either carrying the burden of her worries or trying to bring them up to him now. He sucked in a deep breath and tried counting to ten, but it did nothing to keep his own fears at bay. 

“Jemma, we’re young and we’re good at our jobs. Did y’ ever think that maybe they want it t’ be us because they want us out o’ the way? They’re jus’ jealous and hopin’... Hopin’ we can be slowed down? that doesn’t mean our bosses want t’ hand us a Section 17.”

Jemma flinched when he snapped at her, unable to hide her hurt expression, but she didn’t let go of his hand, even as her instincts had her wanting to withdraw back into herself.

“Even if they are just jealous, that doesn’t change the fact that Section 17 _is_ an official S.H.I.E.L.D. policy, one that we’re in willful direct violation of. Our supervising officer could report us any time he chooses to and have us brought in for disciplinary action, and, and--” Again, instinct told her to keep her feelings to herself, to get a grip and put on a stiff upper lip, but this was too big, too important. She redoubled her grip on Fitz’s hand and gave him a pleading look. “Fitz, I’m scared. When an agent gets reassigned they have one week to report to their new station. This could come down with no warning and we’d have no time before we’d be ripped away from each other and I can’t--I can’t--”

It was too much. The fear and the worry and his reaction had all coalesced to work her up into a right state, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

Fitz’ frustration evaporated in light of Jemma’s panic, giving way to his own fear as he shifted his body toward her and brought his free hand up to her cheek. He caught her eyes with his own, and with his thumb brushing across her cheekbone, leaned in closer. 

“It’s okay, Jemma. Jus’ breath. Focus on breathin’. The res’ can wait.” 

He was being more than a little self-serving by saying that. Fitz had heard what Jemma said, and he knew that there was no way he’d like the outcome of this conversation. So instead he focused on inhaling and exhaling in time with Jemma, making sure that she was taking in enough oxygen and wouldn’t send herself further into a panic attack. 

Relief crept along Fitz’ spine, intermingling with his dread as he watched Jemma’s breathing even out a bit. He hadn’t missed what she’d said, or the fact that it was their relationship that had sent her into this state, and Fitz was certain he wasn’t going to like whatever it was Jemma said next. 

Jemma struggled to line her breathing up along with Fitz’s, closing her eyes and willing herself to narrow her focus down to the ins and outs of her lungs and the stroke of his thumb over her cheekbone. _It’s okay, it’s okay_ , she thought desperately. _Listen to Fitz._

But it couldn’t wait.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, after several long moments of silence, when her breathing felt like it was back under control. But now despair, rather than panic, was looming. This was the question that had plagued her at night as she tried to sleep. “I’m...I can’t lose you. I can’t. But I can’t let them separate us, either.”

Fitz wasn’t sure what he should be feeling, his heart yo-yoing between hope and anguish with each sentence Jemma spoke. He wanted to argue with her, to talk her around into seeing his side of things: that together they could weather any storm, with or without S.H.I.E.L.D. and it’s pointless policies. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not with Jemma in such a state. It didn’t seem sporting to try to convince her when she was feeling vulnerable.

“Jemma,” he whispered, voice shaking more than he’d like, “wha’ do y’ want? Jus’... jus’ tell me, and that’s it, okay?”

She pulled one hand away to press to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to make sense of the war in her heart. “I want _you_ , of course. And to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. But I don’t want this awful, terrible fear of us being separated hanging over our heads either.”

The thing was, there _was_ a solution. It had come to her one afternoon in the lab and it had nearly struck her breathless with its horrible simplicity. She didn’t care for it at all, and it would devastate Fitz--it would devastate them both--but she was willing, desperate even, to do whatever it took to keep him in her life, no matter what. A sacrifice might be unavoidable.

“There is...only one way I see out of this,” she said haltingly, a lump forming in her throat, unable to meet his eyes. It took her another moment to say the rest; because once she said it, she could never take it back ”We...we might have to...we’d have to...separate.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she blinked rapidly, feeling the sharp prick of tears at her eyes.

“Separate? Y’ mean break up?”

His first reaction was to argue against her conclusion. They lived together - even if they broke up, there would be plenty of people at SciOps who thought they were simply saying that to avoid scrutiny. They could also be separated for a myriad of other reasons. It wasn’t as if Section 17 were the only rule S.H.I.E.L.D. had, or that the organization was above using its own policies to police their agents. 

But as much as he wanted to, Fitz couldn’t force the arguments past his lips. Not with Jemma sitting there, looking so forlorn. Forlorn and beautiful, even with red rimmed eyes and a quivering lip, and tearing at his heart. His own tears began to form and Fitz shut his eyes against them in a bid to hide them from Jemma. Having them both dissolve into a mess wouldn’t do anyone any good. Using his hold on her, Fitz pulled Jemma closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He told himself that it would have to have to be enough. Their friendship and the work would have to sustain him. 

“If that... if that's what y’ really want, Jemma,” he whispered, disentangling their hands and bringing his own back into his lap. “If that's what y’ want, okay.”

The soft kiss he pressed to her forehead nearly did her in, her heart lurching painfully in her chest, but when he pulled his hands away and acquiesced without a fight, she was left to open her eyes and look back at him almost in puzzlement. She’d expected more of an argument from him, a plea to reconsider, anything but this. Suddenly, doubt had her wondering if the past three years meant as much to him as it did to her.

(Of course it did. She knew that. She knew how much it took him to open up to people, how precious his trust was. She knew how much she meant to him. And she could see him struggling to hold back his own tears.)

“No, it’s _not_ what I want, of course it’s not,” she said brokenly, reaching out to him again. “I love you. But I don’t see any other way of staying together while keeping our jobs. And--we _have_ to stay together. I couldn’t bear it if we were separated.” 

As much as he was trying to be strong, Fitz couldn't help but flinch when she said she loved him. He didn't doubt it was true; it was just that she loved the work they did together more. That was an entirely different kind of ache that Fitz wasn't sure he could deal with at the moment. Maybe later, with the liberal application of alcohol, but not now. 

He couldn't help but wonder if Jemma realized exactly what she was saying. The concept of needing to end their romantic relationship in order to maintain their working one certainly wasn't her most logical argument, but in her current state Fitz doubted she'd see it that way. He darkly wondered if the men and women who'd founded S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't intended for this kind of thing all along. It was a nonsense thought to be sure, but with his own emotional turmoil, Fitz wasn't inclined to feel kindly toward their founders. 

“I get it, Jemma,” he ground out, tone sullen. “In order t’ stay together in the lab, this is wha’ y’ want t’ do.” That killed him to say aloud, but he wanted confirmation that was what Jemma was thinking. Her slight nod was all he needed before pressing on. “All right. Just because we say we're no’ together doesn't mean they'll believe us. Things will need t’, well, uh, change a bi’.

“I'll kip out here tonight. And I'll move my things out o’ the room tomorrow. We'll jus’ take it from there.”

Just because he was agreeing with the only course of action Jemma saw possible didn’t mean it was easy to hear. She’d hurt him; that was plainly obvious, from the tone of his voice to the hunch of his shoulders and the way he wouldn’t look at her. But what had she expected? It was hurting her, too. This wasn’t some casual decision, like deciding what to have for dinner or what to do on the weekend. It was the end of a three-year relationship.

No. Not the end, she told herself stubbornly. Just...a redirection. A terrible but necessary one, if she was to keep him in her life. 

But when he said he wanted to sleep on the couch, she felt her stomach drop. “Oh, no, Fitz, you don’t have to--” she started to say, but then she stopped, sucking in a harsh breath. If this was going to work, changes _would_ have to be made, no matter how painful and awkward they would be. And they would have to start right now. She was flooded with the sudden rash desire to kiss him, one last time, to drink her fill of him and feel the imprint of his lips on hers, to carry with her long after it was no longer allowed. But, judging by the hurt that was radiating off him in waves, she didn’t think it would be welcome.

“Of course,” she managed after a moment, her voice small but trying her best to project surety. She had no right to be hurt; this had been her idea. “If that’s what you feel is best. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

Fitz only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was having trouble ordering his thoughts, for starters, and the emotion behind them meant he would likely only end up crying his eyes out. That would come, eventually, but he’d much rather Jemma not be in the room for it. Thankfully Jemma took the hint, quietly standing from the sofa and padding into their - her - bedroom. Fitz waited until he was sure she was in the bathroom to gather his pajamas, a pillow, and a spare blanket from the linen closet so he could at least try to get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Fitz suspected neither of them slept well. When he saw Jemma the next day - only a quick glimpse as she left the apartment to go into work - he saw telltale dark circles under her eyes and she looked drawn. As much as he didn’t like it, there was a small, vindictive piece of him that was glad Jemma didn’t seem to be faring well. She had wanted this, after all, and it felt good to know that he wasn’t alone in feeling hurt. 

That day marked the first day of their lives apart, despite living in the same flat. Fitz quietly took his clothes out of the drawers, shoving them into trash bags he tucked into as many inconspicuous corners of their living room as he could find. They peeked out at him, though, taunting him whenever he was home, a reminder that while they managed to at least be cordial in the lab, all he and Jemma did at home was move in circles and avoid each other. He’d never be accused of being overly friendly on a good day, but now he was downright crotchety, snapping at lab techs and other agents alike. 

It was too much to bear. If he’d had someone to talk to other than his mum, Fitz might have been able to stick it out. As it was, the only person he’d ever actually called his friend was also the reason he was nursing a broken heart. Being around her made it more difficult for Fitz to feel like himself, like the person Jemma had helped him become. He didn’t want to lose sight of that, and quietly began making inquiries about S.H.I.E.L.D. housing. 

When he got word that there was a space available for him, he told Jemma, handing her a check to cover his part of the rent through the end of the lease and refusing to meet her eyes. She’d put up a bit of a fuss, insisting that him staying there was no problem at all, but Fitz resisted all the same. With as much of a smile as he could manage, Fitz reminded her that it was to ensure they could continue working together; after all, it wasn’t as though they could be accused of a clandestine relationship if they were no longer living in the same apartment. 

But even that didn’t bring Fitz any peace. He had thought that living in dormitory style housing and only seeing Jemma in the lab would help him heal, but it somehow only made it worse. The full bed was too lumpy and too empty after spending three years sharing a space with Jemma, and no matter how many times he washed the standard issue sheets, they never lost the scratchy feel. The simple fact was there was no soul in his bunk or the common area or the canteen; there was no sense of home or belonging. 

It wasn’t any better at work, where he still had to see Jemma every day. He’d done his level best to remain cordial yet professional, greeting her in the morning and cooperating with her on their projects, but even months after the fact it pained him to call her “Simmons” when her given name was dancing on the tip of his tongue. Fitz hadn’t felt this kind of yearning to be near her since they had started at the Academy, but now it was tinged with the sad certainty that she didn't want him near her instead of the quiet hope that maybe she did. 

Three months after their break up, unable to take any more, Fitz found himself in their SO’s office asking for transfer papers. When the older man asked him where he was hoping to transfer to, Fitz told him the truth: “Anywhere but here.” 

Adjusting to the new status quo wasn’t easy for Jemma, either. At first she had held onto the faint, naive hope that perhaps--after a period of understandably painful adjustment--things could be like they had been between them at the Academy: the very best of friends. But it didn’t take long for that hope to be dashed. The bed they had once shared was too large, too empty without Fitz, the sheets too cold. The couch no longer felt like a place to relax with the both of them sitting on opposite ends, stiff and awkward. Shared meals were mostly quiet, any conversation stilted. It almost came as a relief when Fitz moved out of their apartment and into S.H.I.E.L.D. housing, but even that was a pale comfort. WIthout him, even as strained as their relationship had become, the apartment was too quiet.

Even declaring her relationship status as ‘single’ on her mid-year performance evaluation rang hollow. It felt like a betrayal of her own heart.

But wasn’t this what she had wanted? She kept reminding herself that they were now fully in compliance with all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s rules and regulations, and now there was no danger of them being split up. She could breathe easy. They could spend the rest of their careers together, designing and innovating and creating and saving the world every day from their lab, which was all she had ever wanted right from the moment she had first been paired with him in chem lab at the Academy. She no longer had to worry about them being separated--even if she desperately missed him in all other aspects of her life. It was a price she felt she was willing to pay in order to keep him in her life at all.

Jemma had no idea just how wrong she was.

One afternoon near the end of the day, she was sitting at her computer station typing up a report on the results of one of their simulations when she heard her email notification ping. Tabbing over to her email client, she brought up the new message. When she read its contents, her face drained of color.

_From: Sam Powell <s.powell@shield.gov>  
To: SciOps Division 3  
Date: August 21, 2007  
Subject: Farewell Party _

_This Friday, August 24th, we’ll be hosting a farewell party for Agent Leo Fitz to thank him for his service here at SciOps and to wish him well as he begins his new assignment abroad. The festivities will begin at 4:00pm in the 4th floor break room with drinks to follow at O’Malley’s. Stop by my office to sign up for items to bring._

Jemma could only stare in numb shock as she read and reread the words on her screen, unable to comprehend them, feeling her heart hollow out before collapsing in on itself. Farewell party? New assignment? Abroad? Suddenly her breath was coming shallow, and she was hyper-aware of where Fitz was, firmly on his side of the lab tending to his own work.

“Fitz?” she heard herself say faintly, as if from a great distance. “What’s this?”

He froze as soon as he heard Jemma’s tone. That tone didn’t mean anything particularly good for him. In fact, it had preceded the majority of their arguments when they’d been together which was why Fitz’ shoulders had stiffened automatically in response. It wasn’t fair, in his opinion, that she could insist they break up and still insist on using _that_ tone on him. Or that he still responded to it. 

Knowing that ignoring her would only make it worse, Fitz turned on his stool to face her. Her entire posture was stiff, as though she were struggling to hold herself together, and even though he wanted to be mad at her, Fitz couldn’t find it in him to hold onto it. As much as he hated the situation they’d found themselves in, he couldn’t be purposefully mean to her. 

“Y’ mean Powell’s email, Simmons?” 

Jemma couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look back at him when he spoke. She couldn’t move at all. All she could do was continue to stare at the email and hope against hope that it was all just a big misunderstanding and that she had read it wrong.

“Yes,” she said, still numb. “You’re...you’re _leaving_?”

Fitz took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have told her himself. He should have told her he was thinking of a transfer as soon as the thought crossed his mind, but a petulant part of him hadn’t wanted to let Jemma in on his secret. After being so intertwined with her, he’d wanted something of his own. It had even felt good to have that, right up until it was obvious that it was now going to bite him in the ass. 

“Um, yeah. I… I asked t’ be transferred. And they need engineers a’ the Hub, so they’re sendin’ me there.”

His words hit Jemma like a slap across the face and she sucked in a sharp breath, reeling as several emotions rolled through her all at once in a hot flush. Disbelief. Heartbreak. Denial. Anger.

No. No no no no. This wasn’t happening. Not after what she’d given up in order to play by the rules and stay with him. He wasn’t just... _giving up._

Blindsided, devastated, and struggling to understand, she finally swiveled in her chair to face him, standing and taking a step toward him, her face a mask of hurt. “But...but why?”

“Why? Really, Simmons, y’ need t’ ask _why_?”

The hurt he’d been carrying collided with his frustration with the entire situation, leaving Fitz buzzing with pent up emotion. He went toe-to-toe with her in the space between their lab benches, even going so far as to lean into her personal space. 

“Because we were together, for three years. Three years o’ bein’ a couple and, and fallin’ in love-” Fitz gulped in a breath as he struggled with a fresh wave of hurt at that reminder of what they’d lost. “All gone because o’ some damned stupid policy that they may or may not follow. 

“Because I can’t jus’ forget wha’ we had. Maybe in a year I could come back and work with y’ like nothin’ ever happened, but not now. I need some space before I can manage that.”

His voice cracked as he explained himself and Fitz hated that he was this emotional at work, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never been able to where Jemma was concerned, and it held true even now. 

Jemma instinctively leaned back as he crowded into her space, eyes wide and her hands going up as if to protect herself from him. His words cut at her like knives. It was only just beginning to dawn on her how big of a mistake she had made, how badly she’d miscalculated, how shortsighted she’d been, and now it looked like she was about to lose her entire world.

“But--I gave you space,” she said, grasping at the last remaining straws of her understanding. “You moved out of the apartment, I’ve mostly left you alone here in the lab, I--I thought that was what you wanted, to...to give you time to readjust.” She could feel tears threatening, and took in a shuddering breath, trying to marshal her own emotions. She couldn’t cry, not here in the lab. “Do you think this has been easy for me? I did this so we _wouldn’t_ have to be apart, but--but now you want to leave, you’re just _giving up_ \--”

“Readjust? Y’ really think that lovin’ someone is somethin’ that y’ _readjust_? Like recalibratin’ equipment or, or tweakin’ a design?”

Fitz felt his blood rushing through his veins as his temper got the better of him. An awful thought flashed through his mind: perhaps Jemma had never actually loved him. Maybe he’d just been convenient, a boyfriend she could shape into who she wanted, with the added bonus of being able to keep up with her in the lab. If he’d been thinking logically, Fitz would have realized how foolish the idea was - Jemma was one of the most loyal, loving people he’d ever met - but in the heat of the moment it felt like the truth. 

“Maybe that’s how love works for you, Simmons,” he spat, “but no’ for me. And that’s why I need t’ go.”

“No,” Jemma cried, shaking her head, her face flushing, “no, that’s not what I think--”

This time, she did recoil like he’d struck her. She never thought she’d ever hear Fitz take that sort of tone with her, or say words filled with such hurt anger. She knew he had a temper, but he’d never directed it at her before. What made it worse was knowing that, deep down, she likely deserved it.

But she had to put all of that aside--she was losing him. She had her pride, and she loathed being emotional in public, but Fitz mattered to her more than that. “Please,” she said, as the first tears slipped down her cheeks, “don’t leave. Just come home, and we can fix this.”

Fitz was tempted, more than he’d like to admit, to take her up on her offer. From the time they’d become friends at 16, Jemma had been his home. The person he turned to when things were the most difficult, when he felt the lowest. She’d been everything to him, and Fitz wanted nothing more than to drag her out of the lab and up to their little flat so they could lose themselves in each other and forget this had ever happened. 

But he couldn’t. 

He’d never be able to forget that she’d wanted to put S.H.I.E.L.D. first, that Jemma had prioritized the work before them. That while she might love him, it had limits, and that when push came to shove, Fitz couldn’t know that she’d put them first. He’d seen that kind of thing first hand as a child; he wouldn’t stand to see it happen to him as an adult. 

“Wha’ home? I don’t have one here.”

Fitz was dimly aware that he should be ashamed of himself for the way he was behaving and for making Jemma cry, but he was too filled with righteous indignation to care. He shook his head, and sparing her one last look, turned and left the laboratory. 

“Fitz, _please_ \--”

But he didn’t turn back, or acknowledge her. He just left. Jemma choked on a sob, quickly pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle it, and turned away from the windows so no one passing by would see her in the midst of a breakdown. She couldn’t breathe. Her vision was tunneling, her heart beating erratically as she tried in vain to process just how badly things had gone. Fitz was _leaving_. Because of her. Because she’d been afraid. She’d only done what had felt logical in her mind at the time, but it had backfired spectacularly.

It was nearly enough to drive her into a full-fledged panic attack, completely overwhelmed and distraught, but sitting down and struggling to regain control of her breathing eventually had her calmed down enough that she was able to leave work early and make it home. Her focus was shot; no more work would be getting done that day.

Her evening was spent in misery. She forced herself to assess the situation for what it was. She’d asked Fitz to come home despite knowing there was no chance of that; if a farewell party was being thrown, his transfer had been finalized and he was due to ship out in a matter of days. She’d lost him physically, but maybe she could still win his forgiveness.

Jemma arrived at the lab the next morning with the most fragile of cautious hopes, prepared for Fitz to still be angry, but willing to give the most sincere apology she’d ever given in her life. She’d truly messed up, she realized that now. And she wanted to make it up to him.

But Fitz never showed up to work. As the morning dragged on her worry grew, dread forming in the pit of her stomach, and she found herself watching the door more than she paid attention to her work. It was unlike him to skive off his duties and he was rarely ever sick. She left for lunch feeling extremely ill at ease. When she returned to find that Fitz’s bench had been cleared of his tools and the rest of his things packed away in her absence, she was forced to confront the truth: he was avoiding her. He was _that_ angry with her.

And so, in desperation, the foundations of her world unraveling, she tried calling and texting him, pleading with him to talk to her, even for a moment. 

_Please, Fitz, talk to me.  
We can work through this.  
I’m sorry.  
I love you. _

But he never answered any of them.

That Friday, what should have been Fitz’s final day at SciOps, was the worst. Jemma knew she looked out of sorts--tired from crying herself to sleep the night before, drawn, dark circles beneath her eyes that not even makeup could conceal--but was still attempting to put her best foot forward, to act as though nothing was wrong. She hadn’t seen Fitz since he’d left her in the lab a few days prior, but by all appearances his farewell party was still set to take place. She was assuming he’d be there.

She’d debated back and forth all day on whether or not she would go. It would be her last chance to see him for god knew how long, and she was desperate for it, aching to see him one last time, even if it was just from across the room, hiding behind another coworker where he couldn’t see her. She doubted he’d want to speak to her, not after the way he’d been silent all week. Beyond that, if she didn’t go, her absence would surely be noted and people would talk. Jemma Simmons, failing to show up to Leo Fitz’s farewell party? The gossip would flow for weeks.

Glancing up at the clock, Jemma saw that it had just ticked over to 4:00; time for her to go, then. Standing, she straightened her cardigan and ran a hand over her hair before making her way to the fourth floor break room. Her steps slowed as she neared the open doorway, the sounds of chatter and laughter spilling out into the hallway. The party was already well underway.

Just before she rounded the doorway, she stopped; she’d heard his voice. _Fitz_. Nearby, but not close enough to clearly hear what he was saying. Jemma’s heart leapt into her throat, and suddenly, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go in. She couldn’t go in and ruin the last opportunity he had to see his colleagues and friends by making an appearance and upsetting him, turning things strained and awkward. He’d gone out of his way to avoid her all week; why would he want to see her now? No, she’d make a spectacle of things and she didn’t want to do that to him. Not when he hated her now. And he did, she realized. He hated her. She’d made him hate her. She’d taken the best thing in her life and destroyed it, all because she’d been _scared_ , and hadn’t trusted him.

She swiped a hand beneath her eyes, brushing away a tear that had slipped out, and shook her head to herself, feeling more low than she’d ever felt in her entire life. She allowed herself one last moment to listen to his voice, unburdened by the hurt and pain she’d dealt him, before turning and walking quickly away.

Fitz hadn’t actually expected Jemma to come to the party, not after he ignored all of her calls and texts, but not seeing her one last time had hurt all the same. He hated that his last memory of her was a tearful one, but there wasn’t much Fitz could do about it now. He never should have said those things to her, and he knew damn well that he’d regret them for the rest of his life. The only good thing to come of it as far as Fitz could see was the fact that his actions had created a definitive break, making it easier to move on. 

Or it would have been in theory, if he hadn’t spent so much time listening to Jemma’s voicemails and rereading her texts. Fitz recognized it as a weakness but he gave in anyway, clinging to the little he had of her. It made his life at the Hub a little more bearable, helping him through the first months of his posting. Having that little bit of Jemma acted as a reminder of his first months in S.H.I.E.L.D., when he’d been 16 and shy and too afraid to approach anyone until she had found him. Until Jemma had shown him he was someone people would want to speak to and spend time with outside of work. 

It allowed him to make acquaintances, if not true friends, at the Hub and with them Fitz began to flourish, slowly but surely. It felt good to not have to tiptoe around his lab anymore, making it easier for him to stretch his proverbial legs. Before long he was being recognized by his superiors and began to move up the ranks, to the point where even Victoria Hand knew him by name and took the time to compliment his work on non-lethal weaponry. 

The only thing that was lacking was his love life, but Fitz shrugged that off. He was young, and after what had happened at SciOps, he wasn’t willing to jump back into that pool. The threat of Section 17 still loomed over S.H.I.E.L.D., after all, and he found he didn’t want much from the women he dated other than the occasional one night stand. He was happier that way, or so he told himself, and if it weren’t for the odd dream or thought of Jemma, Fitz would have believed it. 

After several years, though, Fitz began to feel antsy. The Hub wasn’t as exciting as it had first been; the operations, the new technology, even the chance to see his mum more frequently was beginning to feel old hat. There was something missing in his day to day, although Fitz for the life of him couldn’t say what. 

Which was why when Melinda May came calling, with questions about practical applications for his designs in the field and an offer to oversee their testing, he didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

As for Jemma, well, she picked up and moved on the only way she knew how.

During the day at the lab, she presented a front of good cheer and professional poise, keeping up the superior work ethic that she had always excelled at and was known for. Her projects always exceeded standards and she was responsible for several innovations that elevated her status at SciOps, much the same way that Fitz flourished at the Hub. 

But privately she was miserable, at least at first. Losing Fitz left a hole in her heart that was impossible to fill, and she suffered for it. She had always gotten along well with people and made friends and acquaintances easily, but there was no one who truly understood her on a deep, fundamental level the way Fitz had. It took time, and growing pains to get past a certain degree of social awkwardness, but eventually Jemma made more friends too. 

As she grew older and time and distance began to heal her broken heart, she even allowed herself to date again, though none of those relationships ever lasted very long. They just couldn’t measure up to Fitz. A part of Jemma hated that he was the litmus test she compared all other men to, but she couldn’t help it. He had been her first great love, and he was a difficult act to follow.

Yet, for all that Jemma was finally beginning to come into her own, she still felt like she was going through the motions, living some sort of half-life. So it was with a great deal of interest that she received Melinda May’s offer to join an elite team of field agents being sent out to travel the world in search of rare and interesting missions. The idea was thrilling: the opportunity to take her expertise and apply it on the go, out in the world where she could see its effects in real time. Having lived her professional life in a lab, she’d never been able to do that before. Coupled with the opportunity to see the world, it was impossible to resist. This could be her chance to fully live her life. She accepted the offer on the spot.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning she reported to the airfield to board the Bus, Jemma had an eager, excited pep in her step as she walked across the tarmac toward the lowered ramp of the plane, one of her bags slung over her shoulder. The Bus was truly a beauty to behold, all black and bold and imposing; she couldn’t believe this was her new home.

At the top of the ramp, she found the rest of her bags and trunks in a neat pile in the middle of the cargo bay along with several others that she didn’t recognize. She figured they must belong to the engineer she was to share her lab with. Jemma didn’t know who he or she was, or who their specialist was, for that matter; she hadn’t been briefed on them, only told she would meet them when she reported for duty. It seemed that the engineer, at least, was already here.

Setting her bag carefully down on top of the pile, she strode forward into the lab, her eyes wide and alight with curiosity as she took everything in. The Bus was her new home, yes, but _this_ was where she would be spending most of her time. The lab was small, but every inch of space was used to economical efficiency, filled with the latest state of the art equipment: from microscopes and scanners down to the impressive holotable at the back of the room. She couldn’t wait to get her things sorted and stored and feel like she was truly settled in and at home.

But there was still no sight of the engineer. She took a few more steps toward the holotable and the open door beyond it that led into the rear depths of the plane. “Ah, hello?” she called out. “Anyone there?”

Fitz’ transport had arrived early that morning, and with nothing else to do to hold his attention, he decided to inspect the Mobile Command Station for himself. He’d read about them, but had never been lucky enough to see one in action. He took his time wandering through the plane, examining the technology to see how it all fit together. Overall, he was impressed; other than a few nitpicky things, Fitz couldn’t find much that he’d do differently. 

The boredom that had been choking him at the Hub wouldn’t find him here, of that Fitz was certain. Pleased that he’d made the right decision in saying yes to May, Fitz ventured into the lab, a wonderland of glass, chrome, and the latest in S.H.I.E.L.D. innovation. He wasn’t much of one for believing in a “happy place,” but this was as close as he’d been in his 26 years on Earth. He went to work setting up his workbench first, only moving the larger bits of his personal equipment into the storage room tucked away in a back corner after that was done. 

While he was in there he heard footfall on the metal flooring. He was mildly curious to see who else would be joining him on this assignment, but decided to hold off. There would be a briefing before they left. He could meet the rest of the team then. However, when he heard someone call out, Fitz found he was left no choice. Dusting his hands off on his trousers, he exited the storage.

“Hello! I’m-”

The words died on his tongue as soon as he saw her, standing in the middle of the lab like it was nothing. Jemma Simmons was as beautiful as he remembered, hazel eyes bright and smile wide as she looked around the mobile lab. She’d done something different with her hair, but other than that she looked exactly how he’d left her all those years ago. The sudden wave of longing took him by surprise and Fitz had to cough to clear his throat before he could speak again. 

“Hi, Simmons.” 

Jemma looked over at the sound of approaching footsteps, but any words she might have said turned to ash in her throat as he came through the door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of her. _Fitz_. All the color drained from her face as she took him in, looking much the same as he had when she’d last seen him so long ago, but still different somehow. Sharper, more mature. He looked _good_. 

The scars on her broken heart were old and worn over, but seeing him like this tore them afresh, and it took her a moment to recover herself, snapping her jaw shut and straightening her shoulders before swallowing. She took scant comfort from the fact that he seemed just as gobsmacked to see her.

“Hello, Fitz,” she replied quietly. A pause. “So--you’ve been assigned to the Bus.”

A bit unnecessary to mention, but she didn’t know what else to say to fill the yawning gulf of silence between them.

“Yeah, I, uh.” Fitz chuckled humorlessly as he tried to find his footing. He hadn’t even been this tongue tied around her at 16! “When May asked, I couldn’t say no. She’s no’ exactly the kind o’ woman t’ take that well.”

He took a few tentative steps forward into the center of the lab, careful to keep the lab bench between them. There was part of him that didn’t believe he was actually seeing Jemma, of all people, and if it wasn’t an utterly ridiculous gesture, he would have pinched himself. As it was, he was certain she could hear the way his heart was racing just from being in the same room as her once more. 

Memories from the last time he’d seen her came rushing in, along with the guilt he’d shoved aside. He’d behaved badly that day; he could at least try to be better now. It took him a long moment, but Fitz eventually found his manners. 

“How have y’ been?”

Jemma chuckled along with him, her laugh trailing off into awkward silence as she watched him move closer, unable to take her eyes off him. He was here, right in front of her, after all these years, and they were going to have to work together. In this lab. In close quarters. Memories of the last time she’d seen him washed through her as well, recalling the venom in his voice and the hurt in his eyes, and she swallowed again.

Oh, god.

But here he was, making small talk with her as if he didn’t hate her. Perhaps the years apart had been enough to bury the hatchet. “I’m….I’m good,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “Yeah, I’ve been good.” She tried her best to give him a bright smile, but it felt a little strained due to the way her stomach was churning. “How’ve you been? You were at...the Hub, right?” 

Jemma still couldn’t conceal her thoughts to save her life, something Fitz found oddly comforting. If she had come onto the plane a super spy on top of being the most brilliant scientist in her field, he would have been entirely out of his depth. It was reassuring to see that she was still the Jemma he’d known so well all those years ago. 

“Yeah, they had me a’ the Hub designin’ field equipment. Nothin’ too flashy. Some non-lethal weaponry, a few other gadgets.” Fitz left it at that, not wanting to sound too much like he was bragging. He’d done all right for himself at the Hub, but with Jemma before him once more he couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. Fitz had never found another lab partner quite like her, who’d been able to practically read his mind where their work was concerned. 

Not for the first time, he realized that if he’d simply stayed with her at SciOps, they might have advanced even further together than they had apart. Perhaps they would have even fallen back into a romantic relationship, given enough time.

That line of thinking would do him no good, so Fitz shook it off and turned his attention back to Jemma. 

“Have y’ been at SciOps this whole time?” With Jemma’s sense of adventure he would have expected her to seek out an assignment in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s more exotic locales, but he would have expected to hear of her work, too. What had she been doing staying in one place that whole time?

_Nothing too flashy._ Jemma fought the urge to smile, despite her nerves and seesawing emotions. That was likely a bit of an understatement. Fitz was brilliant; she had no doubt they’d had him working on some top-level projects, maybe even some that she’d caught wind of at SciOps. It wasn’t unusual for designs from other facilities to come across her desk, needing input from the scientists in her lab. Oftentimes they were classified to a degree that she never knew the names of the other agents who worked on them. It was bittersweet to think that perhaps they had managed to collaborate, even after he’d left.

So she nodded as he spoke, looking down at her hands folded in front of her, breathing in through her nose and willing her nerves to settle. Fitz was actually speaking to her, civilly. It was...a start. She was so grateful for it, so thankful that after all this time and how much she’d hurt him that he wasn’t brushing her off or snapping at her that she was willing to take it. She didn’t dare hope for anything more.

“Oh, no, not the whole time,” she said, still trying to keep her voice light. _Act like this is perfectly normal, Jemma. A chat between colleagues. Old friends. Don’t let on about how miserable you were._ “I took a year to teach at the Academy, which was a very rewarding experience, but I decided I was better suited to the lab.”

What she didn’t say was that while she really had enjoyed teaching, she’d run into the same problem at the Academy that she’d found everywhere else: being so much younger than the rest of her peers. It had created a certain sense of isolation and loneliness, and beyond that, it was a little difficult to command respect from your students when some of them were the same age as you.

Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes. “Speaking of labs, I’m...I admit I’m surprised to see you here. You always did prefer to stay in one place.”

Fitz’ brows lifted when she mentioned teaching. She had never mentioned wanting to be part of the SciTech faculty when they were younger, but he had to admit that it suited Jemma. She had always loved learning and discovery for their own sake; it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine her wanting to pass that kind of passion on to the next generation of agents, and the image of Jemma in front of a classroom made him smile. 

His initial shock at seeing Jemma eased as they spoke, allowing Fitz to relax. She would have been well within her rights to take him to task for the way he'd left things. He could still replay their last conversations, and while he didn't think he said anything out of line, his behavior had been abhorrent. He should have returned her calls or texts at the very least, but his immaturity hadn't allowed him to see anything past his own hurt. If by some miracle they could have a cordial working relationship now, Fitz would be thankful for it. 

He hadn't expected her to call him on leaving the Hub, although he couldn't blame Jemma. At 16 he'd been so resistant to anything new she'd practically had to drag him to try different restaurants and cafes. It was bittersweet in a way that thanks to Jemma's influence Fitz was willing to take more risks in his life. It was that what had brought him to the Bus, and her, even if she didn't realize it. 

“The Hub just started t’ feel _small_.” The Hub wasn't tiny in the least, but that was the only way Fitz could think to describe what had driven him to leave. Seeing the same people everyday without a deeper connection to any of them, working on the a million variations of the same damn projects, had begun to stifle him. When Melinda May had approached him, Fitz had been seriously considering leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. altogether; this had been the perfect compromise to find something new without jettisoning his entire career. 

“I needed a change o’ pace is all. And, like I said, y’ don't exactly say 'no’ t’ The Cavalry,” he said, breaking into an honest grin. “No’ unless y’ have a death wish.”

Seeing Fitz smile, a real, true smile, did funny things to Jemma’s heart. He hadn’t done it for ages even before he’d left, with things being so strained and tense between them. Oh, she’d missed it, the way it transformed his face and allowed her a glimpse of a side of himself he didn’t often show. It lit a warmth in her chest, a slow, soft smile spreading across her face in return.

(She had to guard her heart. She had to. She couldn’t let herself hope for anything more than a civil working relationship. She’d lost the right to anything more a long time ago.)

“No,” she agreed, laughing softly. “No, you don’t really say no to her.” She looked down again, biting her lip. She was feeling oddly shy, reminiscent of herself at sixteen, and she had no idea why. Fitz knew everything about her, inside and out. She forced herself to meet his eyes again. “But I would have said yes even if it hadn’t been her who’d offered the job. How could you pass up the opportunity to see the world?”

This time, the shine in her eyes was genuine, and a hint of her earlier excitement broke through. 

There was the Jemma he knew so well, excited about the possibility of what might be and ready for an adventure. Just seeing her excitement spilled over onto Fitz, and for the first time since agreeing to this assignment he found that he was looking forward to working with another scientist. It’d be so much easier than having to get used to someone new, and even if they did have their momentary hiccups, Fitz was confident they could resolve them easily. 

“I claimed the’ back bench since it’s closest t’ the plane’s electrical access, and I was just gettin’ started with organizing my things. Should we take a few minutes t’ organize before we’re pulled upstairs?”

Jemma gave him a slight nod before turning her attention back to her bags and Fitz followed suit. They worked in silence for a while and although nothing was truly out of place, Fitz couldn’t quite say he was completely comfortable. He was still too aware that it was Jemma on the other side of the lab to say he was fully at ease, but Fitz couldn't say he was truly bothered by it. If anything it was a callback to their early days in S.H.I.E.L.D. when he’d been so desperate to say the right thing to her. He’d overcome that hurdle here already; now it was simply a matter of not mucking it up. 

No more than a half hour later, the scientists found their attention pulled from their task by the sound of a heavy duffle hitting the floor just outside their lab. 

“Agent Fitz? Agent Simmons?”

Any of the buoyancy Fitz had felt from having a successful conversation with Jemma evaporated the instant he saw the other man. Tall, muscular, and classically handsome, Fitz knew he was looking at their new team’s specialist, a man May had only called “Ward.” He risked a glance at Jemma, only to see that she was standing even straighter, a wide smile gracing her mouth as she greeted the newcomer. 

_Just bloody fantastic_ , Fitz thought, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. Of course he’d end up in proximity with Jemma once more only to have an Adonis thrown into the mix. It didn’t help any that Ward looked like the few cadets Jemma had dated before him, souring Fitz’ mood further. 

“Coulson said I’d need my comm receiver encoded.”

Fitz recognized the model - it was one of his own designs from his time at the Hub - and noticed the way the specialist seemed to hesitate when handing it over to him. He had the proper tools to open the thing and carefully remove the I.D.I.S. chip, and considered doing just that until Ward made his jab about Fitz not being familiar with the tech. He allowed his Id a bit of free rein then, and took more joy than he’d ever admit in seeing Ward’s face as he smashed the device to pieces. 

Jemma found herself lost in memories as they worked in a silence that wasn’t entirely awkward, but wasn’t completely at ease, either. the air between them was a little like their early days at the Academy, when they were both getting used to how the other operated, carefully navigating the first steps of a new friendship that mattered more than either of them would ever admit. She was careful to stay out of Fitz’s way for the most part, keeping to the side of the lab that had been designated hers and busying herself with unloading her equipment and organizing her bench and shelves just the way she liked it.

She couldn’t help but steal the occasional glance from time to time, though. He really did look good, healthy and whole and tinged with a faint air of confidence that felt a little new to her. She wondered how his years at the Hub had changed him, if he was still the Fitz she’d known. 

When their last team member arrived, Jemma was both disappointed and relieved by the interruption. A part of her wanted to be alone with Fitz for as long as she could, to see how much they could tentatively broach upon a new relationship--whatever that may be--but mostly, she was grateful for the distraction. The emotions that had been brought back to the surface by seeing him again were still a mess, and she needed a reprieve.

Grant Ward was indeed easy on the eyes, though that wasn’t at the forefront of Jemma’s mind as she cheerfully greeted him; she just thought that he looked like every other specialist she’d ever met. So she watched in bemusement as Fitz destroyed the other man’s comm receiver, her nose scrunching up as little bits of metal flew. She couldn’t imagine why he’d decided to get the I.D.I.S. that way.

“He’ll repurpose the I.D.I.S. chip,” she assured Ward, as he looked at the remnants of his receiver in despair. Fitz was picking through the pieces with a pair of tweezers. Then she remembered her part of the job, and turned toward her lab station, reaching for a drawer to pull out a sterilized cotton sampling swab. Going back to Ward, she took his jaw firmly in her hand and jabbed the swab into his mouth, swiping at the inside of his cheek to collect a saliva sample that she could use to calibrate his new receiver. He tensed up, his shoulders going stiff.

“We don’t need the external receiver for the inner-ear comms anymore,” she explained. “We use embedded sensorineural silicone matched to your DNA.” She drew back, twisting the applicator of the swab back down into its plastic cap, to keep it from getting contaminated. “It’s very posh.” Then she smiled up at Ward, doing her best to be friendly. It was important that she get along well with her new teammates, especially since they would be living together in such close quarters. “So, are you excited to be coming on our journey into mystery?”

He gave her a thin smile. “It’s like Christmas.”

Her own smile faltered slightly, and she started to say something else, but was interrupted by the screech of tires on metal. She looked past Ward to see a sleek, fire engine red, vintage car coming to a halt on the ramp of the cargo bay.

Fitz couldn’t help but smirk at Ward’s expression as the Corvette came to a screeching halt just outside the laboratory doors. He had seen the car earlier and had his own moment to freak out over the beauty, meaning Fitz could now at least pretend to hold it together.

“One o’ Coulson’s old S.H.I.E.L.D. collectables,” he informed the specialist. “Flamethrowers, world’s first GPS. He’s mad for this crap.” Fitz punctuated the statement with a slap on the back that was a bit _too_ hard to be strictly friendly, sending Ward pitching forward. 

That was the last time Fitz, or any of their rag tag group, had to relax. It seemed like in the blink of an eye they were thrown into tracking down Mike Peterson, and the activity in the Bus was more akin to a kicked hornet’s nest than anything else. Fitz barely had a moment to breathe, let alone think of anything other than re-calibrating the Night Night Gun and doing his part to make sure the team was successful. 

There was one thrilling moment though, after the rest of the team had taken off for Union Station and had left them behind to run a final check on the dendrotoxin bullets. Coulson had given them orders to follow as soon as possible, but left them no transportation other than Lola. Fitz’ eyes went wide when he realized it meant he’d get to drive the car, and he was practically jumping in excitement when he snatched the keys from the keybox. 

Certain he’d never have the opportunity to drive her again, Fitz did his best to put Lola through her paces, racing down the streets of L.A. at breakneck speeds. He was dimly aware of Jemma telling him to slow down, reminding him that Coulson would have his badge if Fitz ruined his most prized possession, but he paid her no mind. It was simply too much fun to drive this way, and the fact that it left Jemma with flushed cheeks and more than a little breathless was just another bonus in Fitz’ book. 

They certainly made a sight, zooming in and out of traffic with the top down, Fitz leaning on the horn and Jemma shrieking at him to watch where he was going and to be more careful. It was bad enough that they’d stolen Coulson’s beloved car, but if they wrecked it...well, she didn’t even want to consider the consequences. They were both already stressed to the breaking point as it was, racing to perfect the dendrotoxin bullets so the Night Night Gun would work. This wasn’t helping things.

And she _knew_ Fitz was getting a thrill out of it. He’d always loved fast cars, or anything high performance really, anything that was a marvel of engineering. The few times she’d dared to take her eyes off of the road, he’d had a wide grin splitting his face. The _nerve_. If it had been back in their SciOps days, she would have most definitely taken him to task later, once the mission was over and they’d had a chance to catch their breath, but now? No.

As soon as they reached Union Station, they split up, Fitz racing with the Night Night Gun upstairs to Ward, and Jemma around to the lobby, where she hoped to find Mike Peterson. It took her a few minutes to find him, but when she did, it looked like he was in a standoff in the lobby with Coulson, Skye and May hovering behind him. Just as she came through the first set of doors, a gunshot rang out through the room, and Mike collapsed to the ground. Jemma’s heart stalled.

_Please let it be Fitz please let it be Fitz please let him have found Ward_

She broke into a run, pushing past May to skid to a halt next to Mike, dropping to her knees next to him. Her hands fluttered over him as she leaned over him, desperately searching for any sign of life. There was a single gunshot wound directly to the center of his forehead, but--it was one of their dendrotoxin bullets, breaking apart just under the surface of Mike’s skin, a curious blue glow spreading out across his face in spidery fingers before fading out. As gently as she could, Jemma reached out to lift one of his eyelids, checking his pupil dilation. He was alive.

She let out a shaky sigh of relief, looking back first at Coulson and Skye, then farther up to the balcony where she knew Ward would be. He was there, holding the Night Night Gun, looking pleased. Next to him was Fitz. He was exhausted from his sprint, but when he saw her looking, he gave her a smile and a thumbs up--and a wink.

It was so much like something he would have done _before_ that for a moment, Jemma felt dizzy. The relief of having succeeded in saving Mike combined with the surprise of Fitz’s silent praise on a job well-done made her sit heavily back on her heels, her mind spinning. If this was what working with Fitz again would be like, she really would have to take extra care to keep her emotional defenses up. She couldn’t afford to let herself get hurt again and she knew that with him, it would be so very easy to let it happen.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Jemma stood next to Fitz as they watched Skye come up the ramp of the Bus, loaded down with bags and a box carrying all of her worldly possessions. She was excited that the other girl was joining their little team as a consultant; it would be nice to have another woman to talk to. May wasn’t exactly forthcoming, and Jemma had feared she might come to feel outnumbered among Fitz, Coulson, and Ward.

As Skye drew near, Jemma gave her a welcoming smile. “Agent Coulson told us the news,” she said brightly, clasping her hands together. “What a wonderful surprise!”

Skye smiled in return, looking a little hesitant, and Jemma looked over at Fitz to see his reaction. She did a double-take.

He didn’t look _besotted_ , not exactly, but he was definitely looking at Skye with what Jemma thought was more than cursory interest, and it settled something unpleasant in her stomach. Rushing to compensate lest the others notice anything wrong, she turned back to Skye and fixed her smile back in place. “You must be very excited,” she added.

“Yep, first day of school,” Skye replied, sounding amused.

Suddenly Fitz reached around her to take Skye’s box out of her arms, giving her one of his rare charming smiles, and Jemma’s stomach lurched again. _No. Stop that._ “Okay, so, if you’ll follow me,” she said, and turned to lead the way up the spiral staircase and into the main cabin of the Bus. 

He followed the women up the spiral staircase, taking extra care to be sure he wouldn’t trip over his own feet as he carried the rather large box full of Skye’s knick-knacks. That wouldn’t do at all, not with both Jemma and Skye around to see him embarrass himself. He might not have the swagger of a Grant Ward, but Fitz still had some pride. He’d like to maintain that at the very least. 

Fitz had his own reasons to be pleased that Skye had agreed to come on as a consultant. Of the people on the team, Jemma was really the only one he could ever see himself spending time with outside of work; they were closest in age, after all, and plenty of shared interests. But it was their history that made Fitz shy away from the mere idea of spending too much time with Jemma alone. Adding Skye gave him someone to talk to, someone who would show more of an interest in the same technologies without immediately asking about the field application. He felt like he and Skye could bond, a distraction he was happy to have if Jemma was going to be throwing herself at Ward all the time. 

“Officially, it’s an Airborne Mobile Command Station,” Fitz explained to Skye as the three of them entered the common area, “bu’ we call it the Bus. We find it best t’ use shorthand when in the field, bu’ everythin’ has t’ be just so, y’ know. Because o’ the _danger_.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been up here before, but I didn’t see much because of the bag that Agent Ward put over my head.”

Fitz opened his mouth to apologize to Skye for the rough treatment, only to be beaten to the punch by Simmons. He shook it off, though, shuffling the box around so he could get a better grip on it, and as soon as May made her announcement, he made a beeline for the one bunk that remained. 

“There’s only one lef’, and it’s right next t’ mine.” 

He gave Skye a grin and a quick wink at that, darting around both her and Jemma to set her things down. He paused for a moment, taking the time to feel pleased with himself for being helpful before realizing that he was in Skye’s way. With a bashful nod he ducked out again to see what else needed to be done. 

Jemma only just managed not to groan out loud, though she did roll her eyes where the other two couldn’t see as Skye moved to drop her bags onto her bed as well. God help them all, Fitz was _flirting._ Skye didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t show it, but it was loud and clear to Jemma. Had he been this painfully obvious when they were young? How had she never noticed? This was too on the nose. The eagerness with which he helped Skye with her things, the way he emphasized the risks of their job like a strutting peacock (and what did he know, anyway? They’d barely gotten their feet wet!), and oh bloody hell, insisting she take the empty bunk next to his. 

She supposed she had herself to blame for that. She’d very deliberately chosen a bunk on the opposite side of the cabin from Fitz, deciding she needed to keep that distance between them for her own peace of mind, so she could have a safe space away from him if things went south between them again--and that was always a possibility, she reminded herself. But of course that just left things wide open for pretty, outgoing, brilliant Skye to take the one remaining bunk right next to the ex that she still carried a torch for.

A bitter flush rolled through her as she recalled the fact that Section 17 didn’t extend to relationships with consultants.

Well. Fitz could make moon eyes at Skye and flirt terribly like an awkward teenager all he wanted, but that didn’t mean she had to stick around to watch it. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with, Skye,” she said, making sure to keep her voice open and light. It wasn’t Skye’s fault she was jealous. “I’ll be down in the lab making sure everything is secure and ready to go before May calls for wheels up.” She gave Fitz a fleeting smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before turning to leave.

Jemma’s sudden pique didn’t go unnoticed by Fitz, although he had no clue what could have caused it. That didn’t stop him from hoping it had been his flirting with Skye, his bit of retaliation for the way Jemma had been eyeing Ward from the moment he boarded the Bus. Although with his luck, Jemma hadn’t even realized what he was doing - or worse, she didn’t care - and had only been annoyed at having to be around him. That thought diminished any pleasure he’d derived from Skye’s company, leaving him to give her a half-hearted wave as he followed Jemma downstairs once more. 

Learning their destination perked him right up though, and Fitz took every opportunity to share every last fact he knew about all 32 of Peru’s indigenous monkey species to anyone who would listen. Oddly, only Jemma seemed to be just as interested as he, smiling as he spoke and offering her own far more terrifying facts about the other fauna in the area. If Fitz were to be truthful, it went a long way to helping him settle into his role as a field scientist. It simply felt _right_ to have Jemma there chatting along with him as they solved puzzle after puzzle, even if it meant having to dodge bullets and having their aircraft taken over by the Peruvian military. After all, what did that matter if he got to sit around with her at the end of the day to share a beer and watch a dangerous object be rocketed into the sun?

Eventually, they settled into a routine. Not one that was often followed to the letter, perhaps, but a routine nonetheless. There was maintenance that needed to be run on the Bus, he and Jemma took turns giving each other drills in the morning while Skye and Ward trained, and Coulson and May were close at hand to make sure everyone played their part. It met just the right balance of excitement that he’d been missing at the Hub and tedium he needed to feel grounded, leaving Fitz contented to a degree he hadn’t expected when he first arrived mere weeks ago. 

Fitz also found he had to admit that Jemma was right - there was a certain degree of wonder to working in the field that simply couldn’t be anticipated. Where else could he have seen gravitonium in action, or had the opportunity to create gear on the fly to help the agents on his team? I required a level of mental dexterity that wasn’t necessary in a stationary lab, and Fitz found that the more often he was challenged that way, the more he enjoyed his work. 

If he had to venture a guess, he would say that Jemma agreed with him on that front. True, she had always been the more enthusiastic of the pair of them, but each new discovery she encountered left her positively radiant, and left Fitz’ heart in further jeopardy. He was remembering just why he had fallen in love with Jemma all those years ago, and coming to the realization that he had never actually stopped. It had just gone dormant, waiting for the right moment to overtake him once more. 

And overtake him it did, to the point that even as she performed her first ocular surgery on Akela Amador, Fitz found himself charmed by Jemma’s bubbly enthusiasm even as his stomach lurched violently. 

Life in the field really was agreeing with Jemma; it was like a dream come true. She knew she would enjoy her work, but she didn’t know just how _much_. The thrill of discovery and the rush that came from finding the right solution just in the nick of time was fascinatingly addictive, and it was something she found she could easily get used to. Sure, the team had had some close calls--but they’d always saved the day in the end. It was a ridiculous concept, but Jemma felt nearly invincible. She was quickly becoming convinced there was nothing their team couldn’t do.

And they were fast starting to feel almost like a family, too. Coulson and May of course were the elders with the years and the experience, leading with wisdom. Ward was like the stern older brother, a bit stodgy and very by-the-book. He and Skye got on like a house on fire; she pushed all of his buttons and he annoyed her with his adherence to the rules. Privately, Jemma thought Skye had a bit of a thing for her SO, which spelled probable doom for Fitz’s crush on her (which, in her opinion, was only getting worse). 

She was a horrible person for thinking it, because Fitz would be miserable if things didn’t pan out in his favor, but at least Skye didn’t return his feelings. And thank god for that, because if she did, Jemma didn’t think she could bear it. As it was, Skye was actually a much-needed buffer between her and Fitz. They had established a good working relationship, that was true, but with Skye hanging out with them in the lab with her laptop while they worked, they never had to worry about any potential awkward moments or either of them accidentally bringing up the past. Instead, the plane was filled with cheerful chatter. She really was the female friend Jemma had often wished for growing up. She and Skye couldn’t be more different, but she was so easy to get along with, and so outgoing and fun, a true breath of fresh air. It was impossible to hate her for being the object of Fitz’s affection.

As for Fitz himself...no matter how much Jemma told herself to guard her heart, that she couldn’t let herself get emotionally invested again and that she had to stay distant, she couldn’t. Watching him work, seeing him in his element, his brilliant mind jumping from one idea to the next, only served to remind her of all the ways in which she had loved him, and of all the ways in which he was still the same man she’d loved, but better now. Just seeing how he got along with Skye and even Ward spoke to the degree of which he’d grown into himself, become more comfortable with who he was, and her heart ached with how much she missed him. 

Which was stupid, because she lived and worked side-by-side with him every day now, but there was a distinction. She missed knowing _him_ , being privy to his innermost thoughts and desires, missed the easy comfort and familiarity they’d once known. She’d taken it all for granted. Sometimes, having him so close by without really _having_ him hurt so much it was nearly too much to bear, and those were the nights she would plead a headache or exhaustion and go to bed early. Then she would take out her tablet and scroll through old photos she kept hidden away in a well-buried folder. She never was sure if she was comforting or torturing herself by looking at them. 

She and Fitz might never have anything beyond a professional relationship again, but they had their work, and that at least was good. It was exhilarating, being able to work with someone who could keep up with her again, and she was very thankful it was Fitz who was assisting her in Akela’s surgery. She didn’t trust anyone else but him to do what was required to be done.

Akela was a model patient--too model, perhaps--steadying her hand when she was a touch too nervous administering the local anaesthetic. She had her medical degrees, but it had been a long time since she had done her surgical rotation at the hospital, and she was feeling the pressure more than she would like to admit. As the syringe needle slid down through Akela’s inner canthus, Jemma saw Fitz flinch hard out of the corner of her eye, jerking his head away.

 _Well, at least some things don’t change_ , she thought as she injected the anaesthetic. Fitz was still extremely squeamish when it came to the gory bits of the human body.

But still, he proved to be a good assistant, handing her tools as she asked for them and offering up the occasional quiet observation as she worked. His very presence was a balm to her nerves, and she had the thought that he would never know how grateful she was that he was there, because she would never tell him. She wouldn’t have a reason to.

However, when it came time to actually remove Akela’s fake camera eye, Fitz cringed and looked away again. “Please tell me it’s out already,” he said after a moment, his voice tense.

“It’s mostly out,” Jemma replied, setting her scalpel aside and turning back with her forceps, carefully taking hold of the mechanical eye. “But Dr. Fitzy needs to step in now.”

It was automatic, a slip of the tongue, born of nerves--an old pet name she’d had for Fitz, when she was feeling affectionate or silly or just plain drunk. She felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment and shame, but she couldn’t take it back now. Glancing up, she saw that he hadn’t moved, whether out of body horror at Akela’s eye or embarrassment of his own, she didn’t know. But they had work to do. “ _Fitz._ ”

Straightening up, he came around the side of the holotable to take the forceps from her. He had to move in close to do so, stepping into her space, and without meaning to her breath caught as he brushed against her and she was assaulted with the scent of his cologne. It was still the same one he’d used when they were young.

Coughing lightly, Jemma stepped back as soon as she was sure Fitz had a firm hold on the forceps and instantly berated herself, hoping Fitz hadn’t heard her gasp. She was not a silly schoolgirl with a crush, she was a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist in the middle of a crucial life or death surgery. She needed to get a grip.

Jemma wasn’t the only one struggling to keep her feelings under control. Despite his own squeamishness, the thrill of racing the clock to save an agent’s life left him hyper aware of everything around him, including Jemma. It was absurd, really, that he could focus on something as inconsequential as the way Jemma watched him as he took over the proceedings, but that didn’t stop him from puffing a bit all the same. 

“All right then. Most likely, both the power source and kill switch are located within the eye itself, so… How t’ disconnect without triggerin’ the kill switch?” His mind raced, looking not only for the correct answer, but one that would impress Jemma as well. “I know what t’ do. Um, I just need t’ clarify one thing.”

He smiled down at Akela, feeling relieved that an answer was within reach and that they all would make it out of the situation unscathed. Using his comms, Fitz reached out to Ward, confident that the specialist would be able to talk him through defusing a bomb. Something was terribly wrong, though, and Fitz could hear the note of panic in Ward’s voice as soon as he told him to cut the wires. Keeping his cool so as not to panic Jemma or Akela, Fitz did just that, snipping through the wires and getting it into the bomb-proof container just in the nick of time. 

Fitz risked a glance at Jemma and saw that she was breathing as heavily as he was. She also wore a grin that was nearly identical to his - pleased and perhaps more than a bit maniacal with the rush of another near-miss. 

“That was close, huh?” he whispered so Akela couldn’t hear, nudging Jemma’s shoulder with his own. 

Jemma took a deep breath and swallowed, feeling her nerves tingle with adrenaline. After a beat, she set the canister lid down and looked aside at Fitz, who was close--again--and tried not to let her head swim at his proximity. She was only minorly successful.

“Yeah,” she breathed, and smiled, taken in by the flush of his cheeks. “But we did it. Well done, Fitz.”

If it weren’t for the bit of gore on his gloves, Fitz would have been tempted to wrap an arm around her shoulder and haul her in for a celebratory hug. As it was he contented himself with a shared laugh and a slight shake of his head. 

“Thanks, Jemma, bu’ it’s not like I had the hard part. Couldn’t have managed it if y’ hadn’t gotten it started.” Fitz straightened himself with a relieved sigh and tugged off the nitrile gloves, chucking them in the biohazard container as he rolled his shoulders. “D’ you need any help here, or should I go get everythin’ prepped for their return?”

Her heart warmed by his praise, Jemma’s smile turned soft as she shook her head. “No, you go on ahead. I should be fine here, all that’s left is getting Akela sutured and cleaned up.” Her mouth quirked in a bit of a tease. “Nothing you should have to subject yourself to seeing.”

Fitz simply smiled in reply before turning to leave, and Jemma let the memory of it carry it through the final portions of Akela’s surgery.

-:-

Skye’s betrayal to the Rising Tide a couple of weeks later came as a shock to the system. Jemma briefly worried that her newfound family would lose a member. She couldn’t find it within herself to hold it against Skye, however, not really. She understood that Skye had likely been through a lot with her boyfriend, and knew all too well that bonds forged that way could run really deep.

Fitz seemed to be taking the news of Skye’s romantic attachments rather well though, she thought. While he was puzzled over her duplicity, not understanding why she wouldn’t mention her dealings with Miles to them, he sounded oddly unconcerned with the fact that May had caught her _in flagrante delicto_ with another man. Which in turn left Jemma puzzled. She’d been so certain that Fitz had feelings for Skye, so something like this should have surely upset him. What had changed?

But life on the Bus carried on, never a dull moment to be found, and there wasn’t much time to dwell on such thoughts. Their team completed several more successful missions before they found themselves in rural Pennsylvania, trying to discover the source of a strange killer: men dying due to electrical shocks of immense power with no discernable source. Even stranger, it left its victims floating. It was macabre, but a mystery that Jemma relished, one that fell more within her and Fitz’s wheelhouse--one that she was certain could be explained and solved by science, rather than guns and fists.

The breakthrough came when May discovered a Chitauri helmet left over from the Battle of New York on display at the firehouse where all of the victims had served as volunteer firemen. No one was murdering them--they were infected with an alien disease. It was too late to save Adam Cross, Frank Whelan, and Tony Diaz, but now that Jemma had a source, she could work to create an antiserum to counteract the virus, to save anyone else who may become infected in the future.

While enroute to the Sandbox to drop off the helmet, Jemma was working alone in the lab while everyone else was upstairs in the lounge relaxing after their debriefs when Coulson came to check on her.

“So what am I looking for, exactly?” he asked, peering at the enlarged view of her microscope’s lens on the widescreen display behind the holotable.

“Wait for it,” she said, smiling. Sure enough, after a second, an arc of electricity crackled between two of the cells on the display. 

Coulson’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

“A ground-breaking discovery!” she said excitedly. “I believe the firefighters initially contracted the virus when they cleaned the helmet, the friction activating some long-decaying Chitauri organism--”

“Hang on,” Coulson said, breaking in. “These cells are from the firefighters?”

“Brain cells, yes, the last vestiges of the infection,” Jemma confirmed, warming to her topic. “Some viruses ‘sleep’ inside host cells for years before reproducing, as they did inside the helmet--the initial source. But what those cells tell us is that we’re dealing with a propagating virus, which means--”

“The virus can move from person to person,” Coulson finished, still looking up at the widescreen display.

“Exactly!” Jemma beamed, pleased that he’d caught on. “And that’s the most exciting part, how it spreads. Not through the air or through direct fluid transfer, but through electric static shock.” She laughed softly in wonderment, shaking her head and looking back down at her notes. “It’s like nothing we’ve ever seen on Earth.” She made a few marks on her paper. “I didn’t think it possible a virus could alter its host’s molecular density and polarity. That explains the floating. I can’t wait until the virologists at the CDC and S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ see this!”

That was when she realized that Coulson hadn’t replied to anything she’d said for a long moment or two; in fact, he’d walked away from her, leaving the lab entirely without a word. She looked up from her microscope in confusion, and found him standing just outside the doors, looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Sir?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, Jemma,” he said quietly, and hit the emergency quarantine button on the outside wall. The alarm sounded, lights flashing as the doors hissed shut, sealing her inside the lab. Disturbed and bewildered, Jemma turned around, looking for any reason why Coulson would be shutting her in--and that was when she saw one of her metal lab instruments, floating in mid-air right behind her. A blue arc of electricity crackled around it before it dropped to the ground with a clank.

“Oh no,” Jemma whispered, her stomach sinking through the floor as realization set in. She was infected. There was no cure. No antiserum. No treatment at all. She was a ticking time bomb.


	5. Chapter 5

Upstairs, Coulson came into the main cabin, his heart heavy and his mind reeling. He took a second to observe Ward, Fitz, and Skye where they were sitting in the lounge talking, before coming to join them. Telling them this would not be easy.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said, stopping as they all turned in their seats to look up at them. “Simmons...Simmons has been infected with the Chitauri virus.” 

Coulson continued speaking, but Fitz didn’t hear a word he said. His brain was still stuck on the seemingly impossible fact that Jemma - _his_ Jemma - who he’d known his entire adult life was in serious danger of simply disappearing from the world, and right after they’d come back into each other’s lives. Suddenly life on the Bus didn’t seem like such an adventure, exotic locales and new technology be damned.

Without saying a word to anyone, Fitz left the common area and went down to the lab. With Jemma in quarantine there was no way he could go in to be with her, but at least he could see her. And with any luck, he’d be able to offer her some kind of assistance, even if it was only moral support. 

Jemma didn’t even seem to be aware of him at first as she bent over her lab bench, all of her focus on the microscope before her. Her shoulders were so tense Fitz felt his own twinge in sympathy as he walked up to the glass. Carefully, so as not to startle her, he tapped at it with his knuckles. 

“Jemma? Is there… can I do anythin’ t’ help?”

Her mind was racing, going through all the data available to her, trying to come up with viable solutions. She’d already had her initial bout of panic, but had successfully suppressed it because having a full-fledged attack would be of absolutely no help and, as she was painfully aware now, time was not on her side. She had to focus and use every moment she had on working on an antiserum.

She was so focused, in fact, that she had a delayed reaction to Fitz’s knock on the glass door. She jumped slightly, startled despite his care, and looked up at him, her eyebrows drawn together. She looked genuinely surprised to see him there, asking after her.

“Fitz?” she said, her voice tight. Coulson must have alerted the rest of the team. “Oh. Um. I’m...I’m working on developing an antiserum to counteract the virus. Which...you knew, as that’s what I was doing when you left me here in the lab earlier, but it--it has a little bit more urgency now.” She bit her lip at her statement of the obvious, dry-washing her hands. “I’ll need a delivery mechanism but I’m afraid the best I can give you right now is that the virus spreads through electrostatic shock. And--” She swallowed. “All of your tools are in here with me. But perhaps I can send some through the door.” She gestured to the drawer set into the middle of the lab’s doors. 

“Do that. Here’s what I’ll need.” 

Fitz rattled off a list of the tools and materials he’d need and their exact locations. Jemma darted around his workspace, filling her arms with everything he asked for. She dumped it all into the pass-through drawer and he yanked it open, eager to begin. It was a simple enough device in theory, although its creation would be complicated by the fact that he couldn’t work at his lab bench. As far as Fitz was concerned though, he had no choice. He needed to get this done or Jemma would die, and he knew she’d take a piece of him in the process. 

He snuck surreptitious looks at her as he got down to it, and found his heart sinking into his stomach. Gone were her bright eyes, her wide smile, the pep in her step. Jemma had pulled in on herself, her skin far too pale and the set of her mouth grim. That, more than anything else, scared him; if Jemma wasn’t certain she could come up with a vaccine, what chance did they have of her coming out of this alive? The thought filled Fitz with dread, which he used to fuel himself to work faster. The rest of the team had come down, but they were removed, speaking in hushed tones a few feet away. It was down to the two of them, just as it had been when they were younger and he was determined not to let her down. 

Satisfied with what he’d managed to rig, Fitz tapped it lightly against the glass to catch her attention, opened his side of the drawer and slid it over to her. 

“I believe we have a winner,” he told her, purposefully keeping his voice cheerful, although it sounded dreadful, even to his own ears. “Fast and efficient - the perfect delivery mechanism.” Jemma gave him a tight nod and carried it away without acknowledging what he’d said. That was unlike her, and his growing anxiety caused him to prattle on. “Uh, hey, um, not that it was easy t’ find a mineralized solution that could suspend the vaccine _and_ conduct electricity.”

Jemma had done all the work she could on producing a viable antiserum with what little information, time, and resources she had to go on, while Fitz worked on his delivery mechanism. In fact, she’d even progressed as far as she could go before Fitz finished, leaving her with little to do but wait. So she’d sat on the floor of the lab, her back pressed up against the glass of the door, acutely aware of Fitz sat just on the other side from her. 

And she thought. All she could do was think. She knew going into the field would have its risks, and that some of them would likely be life-threatening, but she hadn’t imagined that it would ever be like this. That she would feel so trapped, helpless, impotent. That anything they faced would be beyond the scope of the abilities of anyone on their team. She’d trusted that their skills would see them through. She still had hope, but things were not stacked in her favor at all.

She couldn’t believe she’d ever felt invincible.

She received Fitz’s finished device with a small, tense smile, giving him a quick nod of thanks before taking it over to one of the benches. “I wish you wouldn’t use the word ‘vaccine’,” she admonished him. “It’s really more of an antiserum.”

Criticizing him for his word choice wasn’t very fair, she thought as she loaded a dose of her antiserum into his device. He, at least, was trying to keep up the appearance of being cheerful for her benefit, which meant more to her than she could express. But the stress was beginning to really wear down on her, and she couldn’t keep from being a little snappish.

“Okay, so,” she murmured, approaching the rat tank, “these antibodies _should_ be able to target the virus’ antigens.” She paused. “If this bloody alien virus even _has_ antigens.” Then she gently picked up one of the rats and administered a shock to its hind leg before setting it back down. “Come on now,” she whispered, watching it anxiously, willing it to work with everything she had. “Come on.”

But a moment later there was a loud, sharp buzz before the rat glowed bright blue, zapped, and winked out. A second later it floated up into the air, joining the one that had gone before it. Jemma’s heart sank, and she closed her eyes, feeling another piece of her hope and faith die along with the rat.

Fitz shadowed Jemma as best he could, keeping pace with her along the glass wall and watching as she delivered the next dose to another rat. As he watched the thing levitate, Fitz felt his insides go cold; they were running out of time and solutions. He wanted to rant and rave, to hit something, but instead he kept it to himself. Acting out wouldn’t help Jemma, but trying to keep her spirits up might. 

“Well… that wasn’t very cooperative o’ him, now, was it?”

He knew they were the wrong words as soon as they left his mouth. Even through the thick glass of the lab doors, Fitz could hear Jemma’s shaky indrawn breath and the heavy gloss over her eyes was evident. He mentally kicked himself, hating that he’d made it worse when he had only wanted to help. What a foolish wish _that_ was. He couldn’t do anything but watch Jemma struggle to try to find new solutions as time ran out, leaving him feeling more impotent than ever.

“It’s all right. Everything’s gonna be fine.” 

Fitz wasn’t sure those words were true, but he needed them to be. There was so much he hadn’t told her, so much he _needed_ her to know, that this simply couldn’t be the end. He refused to allow it. 

Jemma looked back at him from where she’d just picked up a pipette, and felt her already abysmally low spirits sink even further. Fitz may have been trying to put up a verbal front for her sake, but his actions told another story. The fragile strands of her composure unraveled even further.

“ _Please_ stop saying that,” she said irritably, taking the pipette to where she had another antiserum dosage ampule held in a vise. “I see you looking at your watch.”

She didn’t need another reminder of how little remaining time she had left. 

Her words landed like a blow, causing Fitz to suck in a sharp breath. It wasn’t his bloody fault she’d contracted an alien virus, after all. None of them had realized just what they were getting into when they’d been called into Wrigley, Pennsylvania, and he found he was more than a little annoyed at Jemma’s response. 

_It isn’t her fault, either_ , he reminded himself. All Jemma had ever wanted to do was help people, and now she was the one who needed aid. Fitz could handle that. He’d have to, and he would find a way to keep his temper while he was at it. 

“Are you sure you don’t need my help just t’-”

Jemma grit her teeth. Why was he being so damned helpful? Why was he _hovering_? He knew he couldn't go into the lab with her; all he was doing was making her even more anxious with his extra concern. And where was that coming from, anyway? They were on good terms, but they weren't _friends._ If the situation weren't so dire, it might have warmed her heart, but now it just felt stifling.

“Are _you_ sure this thing even works?” she cut in, picking up his delivery mechanism and waving it at him.

It was the first time Jemma had ever bluntly criticized one of his designs to the best of Fitz’ recollection, and while he could forgive that, he couldn't forgive the implication that he wasn't doing his best to save her. They hadn't left each other on the best of terms, true, but Jemma was still the one person he'd put above all others. The fact that she didn't realize that wounded him deeply.

“Yeah, well, y’ know it does,” Fitz snapped back. “My device isn't the issue, it's the vaccine.”

“Antiserum!” Jemma cried, her patience finally snapping. Biochemistry wasn't his specialty, but Fitz was a genius--he knew better than to confuse an antiserum with a vaccine. Blowing out a sharp breath, she turned back to her work, but she couldn't contain her frustration. Fitz had always been cocky about the quality of his work, but his pride had no place here, not now. Not when her life hung in the balance. He needed to consider the possibility that his device needed revision, because lord knew she was doubting her own work. “And--and all I'm wondering is if you calibrated it correctly,” she added tiredly.

He'd been able to ignore the first time Jemma called his work into question, but now Fitz had had enough. She had given him specifications and he'd followed them to the letter, the same as he always had since they were teens, both in and out of their lab. Hell, it was why he'd gone five years of his life without her: she'd set a course of action and he followed it without question. 

Fitz’ brain latched onto that idea, feeding on his fear of losing Jemma and readily converting it into anger. Anger over the time they'd lost, anger over being cogs in a machine, anger at the idea that the universe had put Jemma back within reach only to snatch her away again. 

“It's not the device! Hey, don't put this on me!” Fitz began to pick up speed, his voice rising as his emotions took over. “I did everything _you_ asked me t’ do. Y’ gave me the parameters and told me what y’ needed and I delivered. Just like I've _always_ done our entire partnership!”

Jemma froze, staring at the vise in front of her, her breath stalling in her throat. _Just like I've always done our entire partnership._ It was the first time either of them had come close to mentioning their shared past, and it put her frayed nerves on high alert. Then a rush of anger rolled through her. How _dare_ he act like they had anything even remotely resembling what they used to have? The last fragments of her self control crumbled; she was tired, without hope, and weak. She couldn't take it anymore.

She looked up at him, eyes flashing. “Yes, you did. You did what I asked. But maybe I--maybe _we_ got it wrong and we need to reexamine our work and make sure it's flawless, instead of arguing over your precious male ego! In case you've forgotten, I don't have the luxury of time!”

Fitz stood gobsmacked, horrified that she could accuse him of putting his pride before her safety. How could she not see that _everything_ he’d done - even the biggest regret in his young life - had been to please her? To meet Jemma’s needs and wants, sometimes at risk of forsaking his own. His eyes narrowed then and he stepped even closer to the glass, practically putting his nose against it. 

“My ego? Y’ have the nerve- _my ego_?! What about _your_ ego, Simmons? You’ve always been so damn certain that y’ have the right o’ it, and you’re willin’ t’ run over anyone in your way. _My_ ego has never been the problem here.”

Jemma's jaw dropped. “ _Excuse_ me?” she exclaimed, taking a step forward, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I have never--I would _never--_ I’m not putting someone's _life_ at risk because I can't admit that I might be wrong!”

“I would _never_ put a team member at risk!” Fitz ground out, unconsciously mirroring Jemma’s stance. His blood was pounding through his veins, making it difficult for him to concentrate on anything other than Jemma. “Much less you.”

Jemma scoffed, looking away even as an uncomfortable queasy _something_ rolled through her from head to toe. He couldn't do this. Not _now._ He couldn’t act like she meant something, not when her time was running out. Rather than trying to examine what he could possibly mean by his words, she focused on the anger and the hurt and the broken heart she'd nursed for so long.

“Oh, why do you care?” she demanded tiredly. “What does it matter to you? You _left.”_

The haze of his anger lifted all at once, leaving Fitz standing stock still and shocked to the core, and just as hurt as he’d been at 19. All of those emotions swirled in him now as he looked at Jemma through the glass and found the courage to say what he should have said all those years ago. 

“I only did that because it hurt too much t’ be next t’ you each day and know I couldn’t go home with you at night. T’ have everythin’ I wanted so close… I loved you, Jemma, more than the science or the work, more than _anythin_ ’.” Fitz felt his chest tighten as his eyes glossed over, making it difficult to speak, but he pressed on. “And now - now I’m not sure I ever really stopped.”

He sucked in a shaky breath in a weak attempt at regaining his control, but he was too far gone. Jemma knew now, but it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference if she didn’t live past this afternoon. 

“Y’ have t’ fix this, Jemma. Please.”

Jemma stared at him in shock, feeling the world around her fade away. Nothing else existed but her and Fitz and the wretched look on his face. He wasn't lying. He didn't hate her. He might still love her, even after all she'd done to him.

It wasn't fair. She'd made mistakes and they'd both suffered but they'd been offered a second chance here on the Bus, except the hurt between them was too messy and complicated to broach and now there was no _time._ They might never get the chance to work out what lay between them and see if they could ever be anything more again. It wasn't _fair._

The pain and the injustice of it all made her eyes fill with tears, and she swayed slightly on the spot as she sucked in a shuddering breath. “Fitz, I…”

There was so much she wanted to say to him. That she still loved him too, that she'd never stopped either, that she was sorry. But would it be crueler for him to know, if the worst happened? Knowing that they'd lost so much time, for nothing?

She closed her eyes, and one tear slipped out, rolling down her cheek. “I...I don't know _how_ to fix it,” she said at last, her voice cracking. “The antibodies from the three firefighters aren't strong enough to fight this virus.” She sighed brokenly; saying it all out loud, admitting that she was going to die, was terrifying in a way that left her feeling drained and empty. “It's borne from alien DNA. There’s no one...to create an antiserum _from_ because...no one's actually survived this except…”

“The Chitauri.”

They came to the conclusion at the same time, obliterating any disappointment Fitz may have felt with the elation of finally having an answer. He was so focused on saving her that the fact she hadn’t actually acknowledged his confession hadn’t even registered for him. He could deal with that - and any potential fallout - once Jemma was safe. 

“Well, the minky bastard who actually wore the helmet had the virus…”

“Yeah,” Jemma interjected, picking up his thought without any reservation, “and managed to survive without ever emitting an electrostatic pulse because…”

“It was immune.”

“Yes! She- she was just the carrier, like Typhoid Mary.”

Jemma was excited as she came near the lab doors once more, and Fitz fell back into their habit of bouncing ideas off each other without a second thought. It was as easy as riding a bike, even after years of going without. 

“Uh, ‘she’? Well, no, wait. that - y’ don’t really think that - okay, doesn’t matter. Um, so if - if I can scrape some epithelial cells from the inside o’ the helmet, we can create a vaccine?” Fitz saw the way Jemma’s eyes lit up at that, and it was all he needed. He was off like a shot, pounding up the staircase and leaving her to shout after him. 

“Yes! Antiserum, but yes!”

Fitz burst into the holding room and scooped up the box containing the Chitauri helmet without hesitation. He knew that exposure to it put his life in danger, but if this worked, Jemma would have her vaccine ready before long and they would all be safe. He dashed through the common area, not pausing at Skye’s query or Coulson’s shout. 

He nearly fell down the spiral stairs in his haste to get his cargo back to Jemma, but managed to right himself at the bottom. Panting for breath, Fitz jabbed the box at the access button, admitting himself into the lab. The hiss of the doors caught Jemma’s attention, and she whirled on him, clearly surprised. 

“No, you can’t be in here!”

Fitz was so relieved that they had hit upon the answer that he didn’t care. He felt lighter just being near her, being able to actually _do_ something other than watch her struggle through the window, that he actually managed to smirk a bit and make light of it. 

“Too late. It’s done. Jus’ try and do your best t’ keep your hands off me, yeah?” 

Galvanized into action, spurred on by a renewed sense of hope and urgency, Jemma was frantically preparing for a new round of antiserum production when Fitz came bursting into quarantine. He was breaking every rule of lab etiquette they had, putting his own safety at risk, and she was staggered that he would do this for her.

Flushing slightly at his innuendo, flustered by how far he was willing to go, she said, “Fitz, I don't know what you think you're doing, but--”

He straightened his shoulders and met her gaze with a resolve that pierced her to her core. “I'm doing what we used to do,” he said firmly. “We're going to fix this, together.”

Jemma could only stare at him in wonder, feeling her heart swell with love. This impossible man was going to help save her life. But she couldn't speak past the lump that had lodged in her throat, so she gave him a tremulous smile and a nod, hoping it was enough for him.

Then they got to work. Fitz set the helmet out on the bench while she readied a swab; after that, Fitz took the actual samples while she prepared the solutions needed to suspend and culture the cells. Jemma didn't think she and Fitz had ever worked together as smoothly as they did during those long minutes, weaving around each other with an ease they hadn't had since SciOps. She could feel the increasing physical symptoms of the virus creeping up on her: fever, chills, clammy skin, weakness, but strangely enough, she wasn't as worried and hopeless as she had been earlier. She trusted now that she and Fitz had a solution, and that soon they'd have a working antiserum that would rid her of the disease.

As time went on, she became aware that the rest of the team had come back downstairs to watch their progress. Skye stayed close to the doors, her arms crossed tightly as she chewed worriedly on a thumbnail, while Coulson paced back and forth behind her. May and Ward hung back, near the SUV. Jemma glanced back at them occasionally, knowing they were tense and waiting on a report. She hoped they would have good news soon.

Finally, the centrifuge stopped spinning, signalling that they were finally done with the antiserum. Jemma released the lid, and the ampule floated up out of the centrifuge, charged by the static electricity the virus was causing her to give off. Then it dropped abruptly toward the floor. She reached out for it, but Fitz was faster, deftly catching it in his palm.

This was it. He was holding what would save Jemma in the palm of his hand, thanks to the work they’d done together. Fitz wasn’t sure he’d felt a bigger rush in his entire career - not when he’d created the Night-Night Gun, D.W.A.R.F.s, Retrievers, or even the Mouse Hole. This may not go down as the most remarkable creation in his portfolio, but it was certainly the most important to him. 

“Third time’s a charm,” he murmured, fitting the ampule into the device he’d created. It slotted in easily, boosting his already high hopes even further and giving him the courage to actually smile at Jemma when he asked, “May I do the honors?”

Her nod was nearly imperceptible but all Fitz needed. He strode over to where the rats were caged, confident in his belief that this would right everything. It was a solution they’d found together, after all, and they were twice as smart together as they were apart. And Fitz found that he was clinging to the belief that this had to work out, otherwise he would never actually get the opportunity to follow up with Jemma about what he’d confessed. 

Fitz reached into the cage, pulled out the squirming rat, and quickly administered the antiserum to its rump. Everyone held their breath as he released it back into the sawdust and waited to see what would happen. The other two had flashed and levitated immediately. If that were the case here… But it wasn’t. The rat showed no ill effects and went back about his business nosing through his environment. They all let out a collective sigh of relief, but none more so than the woman at his side.

“We did it,” Jemma whispered, her voice far steadier and more confident than it had been a few short minutes ago. 

Fitz found himself grinning, ready to hug her before getting the other dose they’d created when he heard the tell-tale sound of an electric emission. Horror filled him as he looked down and saw the rat give off a pulse of blue-white light and begin floating. It hadn’t worked. 

The dawning joy and relief Jemma had felt at their apparent success evaporated in an instant as the rat lifted into the air. They’d failed. This was her last chance, and they’d failed. She knew what the incubation period was on the virus, and she didn’t have enough time left to try and create a new version of the antiserum. 

She was going to die.

But strangely, she wasn’t devastated. She hardly felt anything at all. All there was, was...resignation, and a faint, lingering sadness at what she was leaving behind. They had tried their best, but it hadn’t been enough.

Fitz felt as though he were stuck, wheels spinning but leaving him in place, as he stared down into the cage. His grief welled up inside of him, escaping as a quietly moaned, “No.”

This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be, Fitz simply would not allow it to end this way between them. He hadn’t had Jemma brought back into his life just for it to end like this. If he had his say about it, things would only end between the two of them when they were old and on their sick beds after living long, happy lives. 

That decided it. There was still time, even though it was minimal, and Fitz would use every last second trying to save Jemma. His brain began working again, allowing him to brush past Jemma and turn back to the bench, back to the only place in the entire godforsaken Bus that held any answers for them. 

Jemma, meanwhile, walked forward to where Coulson was standing on the opposite side of the glass doors. Communicating her final wishes regarding her parents tore at her heart, especially when Coulson insisted she not give up, but she had always been a realist and she knew the facts of her situation. When he nodded, she managed to summon up the ghost of a smile for him before requesting a moment alone with Fitz.

It hurt to watch her team leave, going back upstairs, but it hurt even worse to turn around and see Fitz. He was back at the bench, already hard at work on the next batch of the antiserum, and she wanted to cry at how loyal and steadfast and _good_ he was, how he refused to give up on her even when there was absolutely no hope left. She loved him, so much she felt like she would burst from it. But it was too late for them.

She took in a slow breath, wiping away the few tears that had fallen down her cheeks, and quietly walked past Fitz toward where the lab’s fire extinguisher was kept. She was still a risk to her team, to Fitz, and she knew what she had to do.

Fitz went through the steps mechanically, following what he’d watched Jemma do all afternoon as he created the next, hopefully far more effective, dose. He placed his faith in science, telling himself that if he only trusted the process, it would work and keep her with him. 

He felt as much as heard Jemma come up behind him and began speaking automatically, trusting that she would pick up on his thoughts and tell him what step in the process needed to be adjusted to create a more effective antiserum. 

“We’ll try again. The electrostatic pulse from the third rat seemed much less, so we’re makin’ progress. If we can calibrate the antiserum…” Focused on his goal, Fitz lost the thread of what he was saying, oblivious to everything around him other than the task at hand. 

Jemma smiled a little despite herself even though he couldn’t see her, feeling another rush of affection for him. Darling Fitz. She wanted nothing more than to hold him one last time before the end, but knew if she touched him, she risked transferring the virus to him.

“Antiserum, yes,” she said with a soft laugh, though it sounded rather more like a sob. “You finally got it right, Fitz.”

She didn’t want to do what came next. But it was necessary, because she knew Fitz would never let her go, and she only had minutes left before she overloaded, blowing the Bus out of the sky and killing everyone on board. So she took one last look at him, focused on how much she loved him--focused on the silly notion that he would just _know_ somehow--and lifted the fire extinguisher. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Then she landed a solid hit to the base of his skull with the fire extinguisher.

She winced as he cried out in pain and collapsed to the floor, but forced herself to set the extinguisher down and step past him, quickly leaving the lab. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to turn back and look at him; she knew if she did, she might lose her resolve. Instead, she walked over to the wall and, steeling herself, hit the button to lower the cargo bay doors.

Fitz couldn’t be sure if it was the fact that the virus had weakened her, or if Jemma just hadn’t been able to bring herself to strike him with full force, but she hadn’t managed to knock him out. It had hurt like hell, though, and stunned him enough that it took him several long moments to pick himself up off the floor of the lab. 

The first thing he saw was the rat, happily squeaking in its cage as it nibbled on pellets. They’d succeeded! Their antiserum worked, and he called out as much to Jemma, only to notice that she was no longer in quarantine with him. He turned, looking for her, only to have his heart jump into his throat when he found her. 

She was standing at the bottom of the lower cargo ramp, loose strands of hair whipping around her face as she stared out. Fitz could see her bouncing on the balls of her feet, and he knew that she was just trying to gather the courage to jump. That couldn’t happen and, fueled by blind panic, Fitz began to bang on the lab doors as he shouted with all his might. 

“Jemma! Jemma, it worked!” He fought with the door, struggling to get it open and cursing the fact that quarantine protocols meant the doors wouldn’t open for another minute at least. Forced to wait, he threw himself wholeheartedly into trying to get her attention, his throat in agony as he screamed, “Please, don’t! Jemma, Jemma, don’t!”

He watched, powerless, as Jemma turned to face him, a smile ghosting across her lips. It was that look that haunted him as she fell out of the plane and into the sky, far out of his reach.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly spicy content rating to be found here!

Jemma had stood at the bottom of the ramp for a long moment, staring down into the blue expanse below her, fighting against her instincts to live. She didn’t _want_ to die, but she knew that she had no other choice if she wanted to save Fitz, Skye, and the rest of her team.

But in that last moment, her resolve to stay strong had failed her and she’d turned back for one final look at Fitz. She’d been surprised to see him up and standing at the door; she mustn’t have hit him as hard as she’d thought. It gave her a sharp pang of regret. She’d wanted to see him, yes, but she didn’t want _him_ to see _her,_ to force him to watch her do this. And he was clearly distraught--she could see him pulling frantically at the door, his mouth open in a scream she couldn’t hear. So she’d tried to smile for him, as best she could, and hoped he could forgive her someday.

Then a gust of wind yanked her off her feet, sending her tumbling away into the sky.

By some miracle the lab doors gave way and Fitz found a way to fight through his panic. Most likely it was his S.H.I.E.L.D. training kicking in, aided by the adrenaline that had flooded his body. He had to move quickly if there was any chance of saving Jemma. He scrambled to pull the ampule from the centrifuge and load it into the delivery mechanism even as he ran toward the parachutes stored along the wall. 

Fitz tugged it from its hook and managed to sling it over his shoulder, steeling himself to do the impossible when suddenly Ward was in front of him. He allowed the specialist to take both items from him, knowing that Jemma’s chances of survival were markedly better with Ward in this instance. He stood there, frozen, squinting after them both as though he could see what would happen next even though he knew it was pointless. 

It was Skye that came to find him, shutting the cargo bay door and herding him up the stairs and into one of the chairs near the briefing center. Fitz listened as Coulson attempted to radio Ward to no avail, and he had to remind himself to remain calm. It wasn’t as if the man had had enough time to prepare his comms before going after Jemma. So he sat, and waited, and did his best not to imagine every terrible fate that might have befallen the pair of them. 

When, after the 20 longest minutes of his life had passed, a burst of static shot through the command center, startling them all and bringing news that both Jemma and Ward had been safely fished out of the waters off Essaouira, Fitz finally was able to breathe easy. She was alive and well, and that was all that mattered. Feeling drained and needing time to regroup before seeing Jemma again, Fitz slipped into his bunk and collapsed into bed.

Caught in a freefall, hurtling toward her death, the last thing Jemma ever expected to see was Grant Ward zipping through the sky toward her like a bullet. What the hell was he doing? It all happened so fast--before she could think, he’d levelled out next to her, grabbed her, pulling her to him and jabbing something into her thigh-- _Fitz’s device_ \--and a sharp pain lanced through her. She cried out as Ward pulled the cord on his parachute before wrapping both his arms tightly around her. A pressure was building inside her head, a buzz ringing in her ears. Fearing the worst, she tried to push away from Ward, not wanting to injure him, but he only held her tighter, telling her that everything was going to be okay. Just before the pain became unbearable, she blacked out.

When she came to, they were in the water. Ward was holding her to his chest with one arm and treading water with the other, keeping them afloat. He explained everything that had happened--how he’d found Fitz in the cargo bay, how the antiserum had worked. He’d finally managed to rouse the Bus on his comm receiver and they were using the GPS implanted in it to track their location to send out a rescue helicopter. Help was on the way.

Everything after that was sort of a numb blur for Jemma. She couldn’t quite believe that she was really okay, that the antiserum had truly worked and that she was cured, that the nightmare was over. She stayed quiet as she and Ward rode in the helicopter back to dry land, as the bureaucrats worked out the red tape for their transfer, and as they were taken back to the Bus. As they boarded, she looked for Fitz, only to be disappointed when he was nowhere to be seen. But she had no time to dwell on that, as Coulson had ordered her and Ward to his office to debrief in thirty minutes, barely giving the both of them enough time to shower and change into clean clothes. Fitz would have to wait.

When everything was finally done--after Coulson had dismissed her, after Skye had ambushed her for a heartfelt hug--Jemma finally had a moment alone, to think, and she looked toward Fitz’s bunk. The door was pulled to, not quite closed, and a sliver of light was peeking through. She desperately wanted to see him, _needed_ to see him, but had to consider that after what she had done, he was very likely angry with her. At least, he had every right to be. As a result, he might not want to see her. But she had to try. She could be brave enough for that, at least.

Slowly approaching his bunk door, she stopped and took a deep breath before rapping her knuckles gently against it and peeking around the edge. “Fitz?” she called softly.

Fitz had laid down but hadn’t been able to fall asleep, despite feeling as though he’d just pulled three consecutive all-nighters and run a marathon on top of it. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Jemma poised to jump at the end of the cargo ramp, tears streaming down her face even as she smiled at him. While there might be a time when that tableau didn’t haunt him, it certainly wasn’t now. Eventually, Fitz gave up on trying and simply stared at the ceiling, willing his mind to think of anything else. 

That was what he was doing when Jemma called out to him, causing him to bolt upright. While he’d been waiting to know she was back on board, Fitz had been wondering whether or not she’d call him on what he’d said in the lab. Part of him expected Jemma to chalk his confession up to being nothing more than his fear of her impending death, but he hoped she wouldn’t. Fitz meant what he said: he had loved Jemma from the time they’d been at the Academy, and despite their breakup it had never faded away. He loved her and wanted her to know that, even if there wasn’t any hope she’d return his feelings. 

“Come in, Jemma,” he called, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and tucking his pillow against his stomach. Fitz clung to that bit of goose down as a ballast against what was likely to be an uncomfortable conversation. 

Jemma pushed his door open, just far enough for her to slip in, and gave him a small, hesitant smile as she slid it quietly shut behind her. It was cramped in the limited space of his bunk, and this close she could see that Fitz looked tired, haggard almost, as if he’d aged years in a day. It made her heart ache. There was so much she wanted to say--she wanted to ask him about what he’d said to her in the lab, or to apologize, for everything, all the way from hurting him when they were younger to hurting him with the fire extinguisher. But she didn’t know where to start. There was just too much. The stress and trauma of the day coupled with all of the history and hurt between them left her feeling rudderless. 

After a long moment where she simply looked at him, trying and failing to form words, she asked, “Are you okay?” Then she frowned, looking contrite. “Your head, I mean. I--I didn’t do any lasting damage, did I?”

Fitz knew he was staring like an idiot at her, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. His relief was too great at having Jemma back to let something as trifling as social niceties stop him from drinking in the sight of her. She was healthy and whole, and so much more vibrant than she'd been a few hours ago in the lab. Color had returned to her cheeks and she was no longer trembling with exhaustion from fighting off the Chitauri virus. He thought she looked beautiful, and all the more so for simply being alive. 

When he finally processed her question Fitz chuffed out a little laugh and brought a hand up to touch the back of his head. It was tender, and he could feel a small knot had formed, but he'd live. 

“I'm fine,” he reassured her. “Y’ know my mum was always goin’ on about my bein’ hard-headed. She didn't know how right she was.” Smiling up at her, Fitz scooted closer to the bulkhead and patted the open space next to him. “Y’ can sit, Jemma. It’s too cramped in here t’ stand.”

Jemma reached for him, as if she wanted to take his face in her hands so she could turn his head to see for herself that he was okay, but stopped before she could. Then she gave him a weak smile in return as she moved to sit next to him on the bed, angling herself towards him. Even though they were just sitting, and Fitz had a pillow in his lap creating a barrier between them, it all felt very intimate. Jemma’s heart started to race.

“Still,” she said, gesturing at his head, “I’m sorry.”

_I’m sorry for everything._

The mattress dipped slightly when she sat, causing them to jostle against one another. Just that morning Fitz might have pulled away, afraid that he'd make Jemma uncomfortable by being so near, but not now. Now it reassured him that he wasn't dreaming and she was alive and well next to him. Part of him wanted to reach over and take her hand in his, but he resisted the urge. 

“Jemma, y’ didn't mean t’ catch an alien virus. Y’ don't have anythin’ t’ be sorry for. I just- I'm just glad you're all right.” 

She’d been staring down at her hands in her lap, and where her knee was just butted up against his, because making eye contact felt like a step she wasn’t brave enough for. But when he said that he was glad she was okay, something in her heart twisted, and she had to look up. There was care in his eyes, and concern. Suddenly, she wanted to cry again. Those were things she’d longed for from him but thought she’d never receive again. Inhaling, she moved one of her hands until her fingertips pressed against his leg.

“Fitz…”

Her voice was unsteady, a world of emotion behind it. Again, she didn’t know how to start. Beyond that, she was afraid of what he would say if she _did_ ask. What if it really all just had been emotions running high? What if they couldn’t work things out? She’d let her guard down and now she was hoping for the impossible. She wasn’t sure she could take her heart being broken again.

Fitz was alarmed to hear the way Jemma's voice wavered. He had no idea what he'd said wrong, but he knew he had to fix it. Without thinking twice he released the pillow and reached for Jemma. His hand settled over hers, fingers snugging over hers in the scant gap between their knees. 

Butterflies burst to life in Fitz’ stomach as he was reminded of their life at the Academy and how nervous he'd been about messing things up with her. 

“It's okay, Jemma. Y’ can tell me, if y’ want.”

She couldn’t stop the tiny gasp that escaped when his hand covered hers, and her eyes shot down to look at them. He was touching her, willingly. Her nerves were racing, her heart beating wildly out of control now. She was sure he could hear it.

“What you said to me, in the lab,” she said slowly, after a moment, and looked up back at him. “Did--did you mean it?”

They’d said a lot of things in the lab, but she was sure he knew what she meant. It was the elephant in the room between them.

Fitz didn’t need to replay their conversation from that afternoon to know exactly what Jemma was talking about. Each and every moment would be etched onto his brain for the rest of his life, but one stood out above all others. For the first time since Jemma had entered his bunk, Fitz’ nerves overtook his relief and he found himself scrambling for the right words. Jemma’s eyes were wide with more than a hint of nervousness behind them; he didn’t want to say the wrong thing and ruin whatever it was they were inching toward. 

Fitz licked his lips and tightened his fingers around hers, using the feeling of having her so near to keep him steady as he prepared to be more honest with her than he’d been since boarding the Bus. 

“I did, Jemma. Every word o’ it.” He heard her gasp and rushed to get the rest out. “But I, y’ know I understand if y’ don’t feel the same way. I mean, it… It was a long time ago after all.” It was a struggle, but Fitz forced himself to maintain eye contact, even though he was terrified of what Jemma might say. 

Fitz’s words hit her with the force of a train, leaving her dizzy, and tears sprang to her eyes as she stared back at him. She was pinned in place by his gaze. Oh god. He’d meant it. He still loved her. A flood of emotions rushed in, threatening to drown her: sadness and regret for all the years they’d lost because she’d let fear win out, relief because he felt the same way, and a wary hope that perhaps they could build something together again. After everything she’d gone through that day, it was just too much, and she couldn’t keep from crying. She tried to answer him, to put his fears to rest, but she was too overwhelmed to speak. All she could do was reach out to take his hand in both of hers as the tears fell, squeezing it and trying to smile even as her face twisted with the weight of everything she was feeling.

Of all the reactions Fitz had anticipated, somehow Jemma dissolving into tears hadn’t been one of them. An entirely new kind of panic filled Fitz at the sight of Jemma crying and he rushed to fix the damage he’d done. 

“Jemma, Jemma no. Don’t cry, please,” he pleaded, doing his best to keep his voice low and calming. He took his free hand and brought it to her cheek. Careful to be as gentle as he was able, Fitz brushed his thumb along Jemma’s cheek, doing what he could to wipe her tears away. Encouraged by the way Jemma leaned into his touch, Fitz shifted closer and allowed his head to fall forward. 

He held there, his forehead pressed gently against Jemma’s as he tried to comfort her even as disappointment took root in his stomach. Bursting into tears certainly wasn’t the reaction one hoped for after confessing their love, but that was that. Fitz would simply do what he should have done years ago and find a way to work with her despite it.

“Shh, Jemma, it’s all right. C’mon, it’s not that bad, right?” he soothed. “I mean, you’re back, safe and sound. We’ll just take it from there. Everythin’ will be okay.”

Jemma’s eyes fluttered shut as his forehead tipped against hers, and it was all she could do not to whimper pitifully as she cried. Instead of drowning in her emotions, now she was drowning in _him_ , closer than he’d been in years, his touch light and his words soft, his breath fanning over her skin. It took her breath away, but she needed to focus, because he’d misunderstood her. Or, rather, she hadn’t made herself clear. _It’s not that bad, right?_ She needed to tell him. She had a lot to atone for; maybe she should start at the beginning.

“No, Fitz,” she said, letting go of his hand to reach past the pillow and grip his upper arms, just above the elbow. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I pushed you away…”

Fitz was startled by the way Jemma moved to grab him, although he supposed anything that brought her closer was a good thing. At least she hadn’t pulled away from him. When she began speaking, it all became clear. Jemma blamed herself for what had happened in the past. Fitz supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Jemma, that isn’t entirely your fault. I… I shouldn’t have let y’ go so easily. I should have fought t’ stay with y’.” Fitz could feel his own tears beginning to form and he quickly blinked them back, determined to hold it together for Jemma. “I’m sorry I was such an idiot.”

She shook her head, her fingers curling tighter around his arms. “No, you had every right to hate me. I was so _foolish,_ letting the fear over a Section 17 drive us apart. You were the most important thing in the world to me and I--I broke your heart. When you left and never looked back, I…” She stopped as a fresh wave of tears overtook her. “You said you still--still love me, but--I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

“I could _never_ hate y’, Jemma,” Fitz whispered, his emotion no less fierce for his quiet tone. It was the absolute truth. Even when the hurt had been fresh and he’d wanted nothing more than to be able to forget her, Fitz had never even considered hating Jemma. Wanting her, missing her, definitely, but his anger had always been directed as S.H.I.E.L.D. and their absurd policies. 

“You’re it for me, Jemma,” he added, doing his best to give her a smile, “There could never be anyone else.” 

It would take her a long while, Jemma supposed, to feel like she deserved him again. She’d spent so long castigating herself for the breakdown of their relationship that the habit would be a hard one to unlearn. Still, his words were like a balm to her soul, and his smile brought a lightness to her heart that she thought she’d forgotten. Encouraged, she slid her hands up his arms and over his shoulders to cradle his face, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. She gave herself a brief moment to just touch, smiling wetly back at him as her tears subsided. 

“I love you,” she whispered, and leaned in to kiss him. 

Heart full near to bursting, Fitz met Jemma half way, sighing as their lips finally met. In truth, he had thought about this moment. He’d fantasized about what it would be like to kiss Jemma again, and if it would happen in a fit of adrenaline fueled passion or just simply _happen_ the way it had when they were teens. Somehow, though, this seemed right: a quiet moment, a bit tearful but heartfelt with things out in the open.

The kiss was light and careful, each of them trying to relearn the other. Fitz found it strange in a way; there were echoes of what it had been like during their Academy days, but something new, too. Whatever it was, Fitz was looking forward to learning Jemma all over again. When they finally broke apart, it was to smile at each other with their foreheads pressed together. 

“I love y’, too.” Just saying it made Fitz giddy and a small laugh slipped out. “Not sure I ever _actually_ said it, but there it is. I love y’.”

Jemma had dreamed about what it would be like to kiss Fitz again too, and it was everything she had wanted: quiet, soft, perfect. He was new and familiar all at the same time, and incredibly gentle. She sighed when he pulled away, but grateful that he stayed close.

She couldn’t help but giggle along with him, the sound uncharacteristically girlish for her, and she reached up with one hand to wipe away the last of her tears without pulling too far away. Her emotions were a rollercoaster; now she just felt incandescently _happy_. 

“I know,” she said, beaming, and rested her hands on his shoulders. “And you should know--I don’t care about Section 17 anymore. I’ve had a long time to think about everything I did wrong, the things I would change, and...this time, I choose you.” She bumped her nose against his. “I’ll always choose you, now.” 

Fitz hadn’t realized he’d been waiting to hear those words, but the relief coursing through him told a different story. He had always known Jemma to be a rule follower almost to the point of absurdity, and it had often been a point of contention in their relationship when Fitz chose to view certain things as guidelines rather than hard and fast rules. He had no doubt that Jemma would still keep him in line (and he could admit he needed more often than not), but it was nice to see that their time on the Bus had made her more flexible. 

Thrilled beyond words, Fitz reached up to take Jemma’s hands in his and brought them to his lips. He kissed the knuckles of each hand, grinning the entire time. There was a lot to talk about still, but there was a lot of reason to be hopeful. They were on the same page: it would be the two of them before everything else. It was all Fitz could ask from her. 

“Y’ have no idea how many years I spent hatin’ myself for not answerin’ your calls and texts. Y’ deserved better than that, Jemma.” He looked at her for a moment, his thumb running across her knuckles. “But that’s just part o’ choosin’ us, yeah?” He’d break whatever bad habits he needed to so long as it meant keeping Jemma in his life. 

“Well, you deserved better than--”

Jemma stopped, shaking her head. She’d already wallowed enough in self-recrimination; she needed to start breaking her bad habits, too. Instead, she smiled again, letting the imprints of his kisses sink into her skin and light a glow in her heart.

“Yeah. It is,” she replied softly. “And maybe now that we’re a little older and wiser, it’ll be easier to make the right decisions.” She swore she would make it all up to him, for the rest of her life, if necessary. He deserved that much. She shuffled a little closer to him on the bed, tightening her fingers around his and ducking their foreheads back together. “We have so much time to make up for.”

That they did, and if the way Jemma inched closer to him was any indication, she wouldn’t be opposed to catching up just the way Fitz had in mind. Without thinking twice he leaned in to slant his lips against hers once more, keeping it light at first. But when he felt Jemma lean toward him more purposefully, Fitz took the message to heart. He purposefully traced her full lower lip with his tongue as he leaned backwards, tugging Jemma along with him. 

The emotional rollercoaster they’d been on seemed to be leveling out, and Fitz could imagine no better way to enjoy it here, with Jemma, hidden away in his bunk. And if, by chance, they took the opportunity to snog like teenagers, he certainly wasn’t going to complain. 

Jemma went willingly, opening her mouth to him and humming softly at the touch of his tongue to hers. There was just enough heat in the kiss to shoot tiny sparks along her nerves, but she wanted more. She leaned a little closer into him, letting the slide of their lips turn firmer, just a touch more needy. The relief of being alive and the joy of having his love was combining to form a heady shock to her system and she wanted to pour all of that into being with him, right now. When Fitz relaxed against the bed, Jemma gently pushed at his shoulders until he was flat on his back without ever relinquishing his lips. Then she moved to straddle him, leaning down on her knees and elbows before kissing him again, long and deep, sliding her hands into his hair.

Fitz groaned at the feeling of her fingers dragging through his curls and leaned into the touch as best he could without actually breaking their kiss. Kissing Jemma felt like holding a live wire, leaving him tingling from head to toe and eager for more. He reached up to cup the back of her head, holding her in place as he took his time plundering her mouth. Fitz found that he was enamored of the sounds he could draw from her and set out to hear as many of them as he possibly could. He allowed his lips to slide over to her jaw and down her neck as he tugged at her, encouraging Jemma to lay on him more fully as he went to work. 

Jemma’s breath hitched as his lips trailed down the sensitive skin of her neck, ending in a gasp as he reached her pulse point, and she scratched her nails against his scalp, wordlessly begging for more. When he pulled at her she leaned down onto one arm, thrilling at the press of their chests together, and blindly ran her hand up and down his side, desperate to touch him any way she could. Memory had been a pale substitute for the reality of him, and she wanted to lose herself in him.

She sucked in another sharp breath at the flick of his tongue at the hollow of her throat. “ _Fitz_ ,” she breathed, and on instinct she rolled her hips down into his.

Fitz grinned against Jemma’s throat, beyond pleased by the way Jemma was reacting. While they had done this before, he’d been a little fearful that he wouldn’t be able to live up to her expectations. Given the way Jemma was clutching at him, that wasn’t the case, and it bolstered Fitz’ courage. 

He’d been ready to turn his attention to the other side of her neck when he felt Jemma’s hips press down against his, trapping his half hard cock between them and clearing any coherent thought from his brain. “Chris’, Jemma, do that again,” he ground out, his hands slipping beneath her shirt to find the small of her back. He pressed down gently, trying to encourage her to meet him as he thrust his own hips upward, chasing that frisson of pleasure. 

Part of that pleasure was just being able to touch Jemma. Fitz was entranced by how warm she was, how soft her skin felt beneath his fingertips, and without thinking much of it began to inch his way further up her spine, taking her shirt with him. 

Jemma couldn't stop the quiet, shocked moan she let out at the grind of his hips and the feel of him, hard against her center. It sent a hot bolt of need straight to her gut, and she automatically rolled her hips down into him again.

The pleasure that rolled out made her shudder. “God, _Fitz_.” Her nerves felt like they were on fire, every point of contact between them hyper-sensitive, from the warmth of his hands on her skin to his breath on her neck even to his voice, pitched low and rough with desire. She had the faint thought that she would do anything to hear him speak like that again. Palming his cheek, she tilted his face up into another kiss as she moved over him, chasing that perfect friction.

Fitz groaned into Jemma's mouth, unable to keep quiet with the way she wound her hips against his. He nipped at her lip, soothing it with his tongue, and gave up on tugging her shirt up in favor of palming her bum. Fitz used his hold to guide Jemma into a rhythm that worked for them both. Once they found it, he allowed his hands to drift once more, this time to the tug at the buttons on Jemma's blouse. 

He started from the bottom, letting his fingers tease at the skin he exposed as he worked his way upward. The awe he felt at being able to kiss Jemma again had mellowed a bit as he tried to focus on her and making her feel good as best he was able. There were a few tricks Fitz remembered, although the limited space in the bunk meant he'd have to improvise a bit… 

That made him smile. Improvisation was certainly something he could do when properly motivated. And having Jemma above him, kissing and grinding down against him was the best motivation of all. 

The way Fitz was making her feel was driving Jemma wild. The slow grind of his hips, the press of his cock against her center even through their jeans, the whisper of his hands against her skin as he undid the buttons of her shirt, baring her to him...she was almost dizzy with need, kissing him over and over again as she kept up the rhythm they'd found together. She knew they were going fast, burning hot and bright like a star, but she wanted it so much: the reminder that she was alive and present and loved, that she had cheated death and was safe, back in the arms of the man she loved.

Once Fitz had her shirt open, his hands skimming down her sides and over the outer curves of her breasts, Jemma pushed away, sitting up astride him. Smiling breathlessly down at him, she went to work on his tie, loosening the knot until she could undo it and slide it off, tossing it to the floor. Then she started on the buttons of his shirt. As she worked, she leaned down to kiss first his lips, hard and fast, and then his chest as it was revealed to her. “I love you,” she whispered in between each kiss. “I love you.”

He’d thought kissing Jemma left him breathless, but it was nothing compared to the sight of her above him, hair wild and smiling slyly at him as her fingers worked on the knot in his tie. Not one to be left behind, Fitz skimmed his hands over her waist and up to cup her breasts. He had just enough time to brush his thumbs over her nipples and feel them react before Jemma was leaning in to kiss him again, effectively knocking his hands out of the way. 

Fitz whimpered as she kissed her way down his chest, his fingers tangling in her hair so he could give himself a clear view of what she was doing. “Love y’, too,” he murmured, eyes wide and dark as he watched her work her way lower. Fueled by hormones, his mind was quick to fill in just how close her mouth was to his groin, leaving Fitz’ jeans even tighter than before. He caught Jemma’s eye then, and the emotion there knocked the wind from him. Fitz dropped his head onto the mattress, his lower lip caught between his teeth in a losing bid to stifle a groan. 

“Jemma,” he gasped, feeling her lips brush against his lower stomach, “please tell me y’ have somethin’.” As thrilled as he was to not only have Jemma back safe and sound but with him this way, things had accelerated far more quickly than he’d have anticipated. He certainly didn’t have anything in the way of protection in his bunk, and while they hadn’t needed it when they were younger, Fitz didn’t want to make assumptions now. 

Jemma was feeling drunk off Fitz’s groans, his gasps and whispered benedictions, enjoying the warmth and softness of his skin beneath her lips, but his question was like a bucket of cold water over her head.

She looked up with wide eyes from where she had just pressed a kiss to his stomach, her fingers tucked into the waistline of his jeans. “No,” she gasped, breathing hard, and disappointment crashed over her like a wave. “Oh god, no, I don't.”

Since fraternization between agents was prohibited, contraceptives weren't exactly something required on the inventory list for the Bus. And Jemma wasn't on birth control.

The look on her face was all the answer Fitz needed. She looked so forlorn he almost would have thought it cute were the situation different. As it was, Fitz had to work to quiet the insistent part of him that was more than happy to make an argument to just risk it, but thankfully common sense prevailed. 

“It’s all right, Jemma,” he murmured, tugging her up his body. With her face once more level with his own, Fitz kissed her softly. He kept it as light as he could but no less heartfelt as he cradled her as close as he could without tempting either of them further. Their passion cooling, Fitz scooted toward the edge of the narrow mattress, leaving room for Jemma along the bulkhead. He helped her settle in and gave her a few more kisses for good measure. 

There was something nice about this, too, cuddling in the aftermath of their snogging, and Fitz found he enjoyed being able to simply lay his hand over Jemma’s waist and feel her skin without trying to goad either of them into anything further. 

“This migh’ be for the best,” he reasoned once their hearts had calmed a little more. “I mean those doors aren’t exactly soundproof…” Fitz grinned at Jemma as he trailed off, trusting her to pick up on his train of thought. 

Jemma was infinitely grateful for Fitz’s kisses and the way he eased their passion into something more tender. It took the sting out of her disappointment, letting her desire cool off until it became warm affection once more. 

She was happy to settle in next to him on the bed, wriggling to fit her back up against the bulkhead and moving until her head was pillowed on his shoulder, her hand testing on his chest, palm flat and fingers splayed wide. She sighed in contentment as his arms went around her, and she pressed a kiss to his skin, just past where his shirt was open. She'd never known a peace like the kind she found when she was at rest in Fitz’s arms, and being able to experience it now after everything that had happened felt like a miracle.

She laughed softly at his observation and craned her head to look back at him, her heart jumping at his smile. Then she looked past him to the door in question, which didn't wasn't even flush with the ceiling above them. 

“And Skye is right next door,” she replied, taking care to keep her voice down. “If we...well...we would _never_ hear the end of it from her. She'd be unbearable.”

Fitz huffed out a laugh as he pressed a kiss to Jemma’s forehead and gave her a little squeeze. “No, we would not,” he agreed. “She’d rig the computers t’ start singin’ that damn song they were always singin’ t’ us at the Academy. What was it again? Somethin’ about sittin’ in a tree?”

That kind of thing had annoyed Fitz then, wishing everyone would just keep to their business and let him and Jemma have theirs. Now, though, the memory made him smile. He’d been too pigheaded to be able to take the joke then, but being a few years older and wiser it didn’t rankle as much. As long as he had Jemma, Fitz didn’t see the big deal. 

“Oh no, anything but _that_ ,” Jemma groaned, muffling a laugh in his shoulder. The teasing had annoyed her immensely at the time because it had been so _childish_ , and weren’t the older cadets supposed to be adults, more mature than them? But they had viewed her and Fitz as children, and that’s how they’d often been treated, no matter that they often blew them out of the water on assignments. Hence, the teasing and the songs.

The fact that the teasing had turned out to have a basis in fact just made her smile too, now.

She shifted slightly against him, getting more comfortable, and lightly flexed her fingertips over his chest. “How long do you think we can keep this to ourselves?” she asked. Then a thought struck her and, worried she might have given him the wrong idea, rushed to add, “Do you _want_ to keep us a secret?”

Fitz nibbled his lip, thinking about Jemma’s question. He wasn’t offended that she’d asked; most S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were rather tight lipped thanks to the agency’s culture. They had taken that route the first time around, not bothering to go out of their way to hide their relationship but not advertising it either. Part of Fitz was tempted to go back to that just because of how natural it seemed, but something held him back. 

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” He craned his neck to look at Jemma and gave her a half shrug. “To either question.” The real issue he had was that neither he nor Jemma really knew anyone on the team. They’d bonded a bit, and had risked themselves for each other, but there was no guarantee that they liked the scientists enough to ignore a flagrant violation of Section 17. 

“I think Coulson’s different, though. Don’t think he’d care much if we told him, so long as we kept up the standard o’ our work. And we’re livin’ with a man who came back from the dead, a specialist who’s been compared to Romanoff, and the bloody Cavalry. They’ll find out eventually. I think I’d rather have that happen on our own terms.”

Jemma nodded thoughtfully. “I agree, I don’t think he’d much care as long as we didn’t let it affect our work, like you said. Ward...I’m not so sure. But yes, I think it would be better if it came directly from us, rather than him finding out from...a slip-up on security footage or something we’d rather him not see.” She sighed, and snuggled in further against his side as a sliver of worry wormed its way into her thoughts. “But...what if he _does_ care? What if he reports us?”

Fitz gave a dismissive _hmph_ at Jemma’s concern regarding Grant Ward. As much as he wasn’t proud of it, his baser nature would welcome Ward finding out about the two of them. He was quite content to stake his claim on Jemma, although he’d never say that aloud. She’d have his hide. 

He noticed Jemma’s tension as she cuddled up next to him, and Fitz began to card his fingers through her hair in the hope of easing that some. “Let’s do this. We start by tellin’ Coulson. He’s the commanding officer here; he’s the one we have t’ answer t’, after all. And if he decides he wants to enforce Section 17… Well, maybe it’s time t’ consider leavin’.”

The idea terrified Fitz even as he suggested it. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been part of his life from the time he was 16; the idea of walking away from all of it was daunting to say the least. But it would be less daunting if he knew Jemma would be willing to walk away with him. 

At 16, at 19, walking away from S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t been an option for Jemma. The idea hadn’t even occurred to her. That was what had driven her and Fitz apart, after all. But now, having lost him and knowing the price wasn’t something she was willing to pay anymore, her path was clear.

“Yeah,” she said after a long moment, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, concentrating on the feeling of his fingers combing steadily through her hair. “If they won’t allow it...it might be time to take our talents elsewhere.” She moved to wrap her arm around his waist, snugging herself even closer. “I hope it won’t come to that. But if it does...it’ll be easier, knowing I’ll have you with me.” 

She tilted her face up to give him a small smile, a promise that this time, she’d stay with him.

That small smile obliterated Fitz’ remaining nerves, and he scooted down a bit so he could kiss Jemma. “Together, or not at all,” he whispered before doing it again. Being able to kiss her whenever he wanted was a novelty Fitz didn’t think he’d ever get over. He’d have to be careful of that, or one of those security footage slip-ups Jemma had mentioned might be a reality sooner rather than later. 

Fitz was startled to see the time when he glanced over at the clock on his bedside shelf. It was far later than he’d expected it to be, and he said as much to Jemma. “Did y’-” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Y’ can sleep here, if you want,” he offered, trying to sound nonchalant. Cuddling with her had been nice and Fitz wasn’t ready for it to end, but he wouldn’t push if Jemma wanted to go back to her own space. 

Jemma’s heart beat sharply at the quote from their favorite TV show, one that had aired during their time apart, and let herself fall into the kiss. She never wanted to take this for granted, being able to hold him and kiss him, not the way she had before.

When he asked if she wanted to stay, she felt an uncharacteristic blush warm her cheeks, and she ducked her head against his chest. She’d had a very traumatic past 24 hours; even though she was cured of the virus now, her body had been through a lot and she was still a little weak, and exhausted in every sense of the word. Beyond that, she wasn’t eager to leave Fitz and the feeling of security he provided. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt herself falling. Being in his arms helped stall that, just a little bit.

“I’d...I’d like that,” she said. “If it’s not too much trouble. But I think it might be better if I changed into some pajamas first?”

Fitz looked down their bodies and blushed. Despite the fact that they had wound down and hadn’t been doing much other than talking for the past while, they did look rather indecent. Moving carefully, Fitz disentangled himself from Jemma and slipped off the mattress so she could get up. 

An idea occurred to him, although he wasn’t sure how Jemma would feel about it. “I, uh,” Fitz rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to find the right words without making him sound needy. “I have extras, if y’ want. Shirts and pants. Or if y’ want t’ go get your own, go on. I’ll just change and wait here.”

Perhaps it was a silly fear, but with what had happened earlier, Fitz wasn’t ready to let Jemma out of his sight, even for as short an amount of time it would take for her to change into her own pajamas. 

Jemma sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and moving to pull her blouse closed, but stopped to look up at him when he spoke. He looked nervous, which she found frankly adorable. He had no reason to be, but perhaps it was just a part of learning how to be together again. Reconciling didn’t automatically fix everything between them; it was only a start. Smiling up at him, she reached out to nudge his foot with hers.

“That would be lovely. Remember how I used to steal all of your old Academy shirts? It’ll be like old times.” 

“I do remember. Y’ took my shirts, pajama pants, jumpers, and anythin’ else y’ liked.” 

Jemma had looked better in all of them, too, although Fitz never would tell her that. It would mean giving her free rein of his wardrobe, and while he loved her, he wasn’t sure that extended to having to fight her for who got to wear which tie in the morning. 

Still smiling at the memory of her in his clothes, Fitz leaned down and opened his bottom drawer. He found a pair of pajama pants and one of his old, worn t-shirts for her to sleep in and handed them over to Jemma for inspection. 

“Will those work, or did y’ want something else?” 

Still smiling, she took the clothes from him and turned them over in her lap. “These will be just fine,” she said quietly.

Then she stood, taking a step away from him to gain a little bit of room in the cramped space of his bunk. She set his clothes down on his bed before lifting her hands to her shoulders, and she only paused for a brief second before shrugging out of her blouse. She’d never suffered much from body insecurity, and Fitz had already seen everything she had to offer long ago. That didn’t mean she didn’t feel the briefest twinge of shyness though as the cool air hit her exposed skin, but she smiled as she caught Fitz looking when she undid the button and zip on her jeans and pushed them down over her hips. And she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her as she recalled the sense memory of his hands on her breasts, just a little while ago.

Standing before him in a plain bra and cotton knickers only made her want to kiss him again, to undress him and push him down on the bed and go back to what they’d been doing before. It seemed her self-control was only as good as her ability to not let her mind wander, and she was quick to pull on the t-shirt he’d given her. She breathed in the old familiar scent of him that clung to the fabric, feeling happiness wash through her, and stepped into the pajamas pants. She had to roll the waistband over a few times to keep it from falling down her hips, but she got them to stay. When she was done, she combed her fingers through her hair a few times to to ease some of the tangles out, and gave Fitz another smile.

Fitz bit his lip to stifle a groan at the sight of Jemma undressing before him. It wasn't just that he found her physically attractive - although that was certainly the case, and he had plans to reacquaint himself with every last one of her freckles once a more opportune time presented itself - but rather the intimacy of the action that did him in. There had been a time when they'd change in front of each other and think nothing of it. Having that back left Fitz feeling profoundly grateful. 

The sight of Jemma in his things - a bit too baggy, perhaps but still sexy as hell as far as Fitz was concerned - warmed him, and he easily returned her smile. He reached out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded toward the bed. 

“Go on and get in,” he murmured as he kissed her forehead. He shuffled around her, trading places in the cramped space and began to strip himself, trying his best not to think of Jemma only a few feet away. It would only get him in trouble if he let his mind go down that road again. 

He traded his button down for a plain white undershirt and shucked off his jeans, leaving him in only his boxers. He paused long enough to put his dirty clothes in his hamper and cut the lights before slipping back into bed with Jemma. 

Jemma’s eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her forehead, the simple intimacy of the action warming her to her toes. Then she crawled into his bed as he went past her, and she backed up against the bulkhead again, making sure to leave enough room for Fitz once he was through changing. She couldn’t help but smile again as she watched him change, unashamedly enjoying the view. Fitz would never be as toned or bulky as the agents in Operations that she typically tended to admire, but he had a fit leanness to him that she found extremely appealing.

She couldn’t _wait_ until they had a good opportunity to steal some time away for themselves.

Once he joined her in bed, she waited until he was mostly comfortable before pulling the blankets up over them and settling in against his side, taking her place with her head on his shoulder and her arm slung across his waist. After a beat, she slid her knee up over his, too.

As they both relaxed, she murmured, “You know, I never thanked you. For what you did for me today.” 

Fitz had closed his eyes as soon as he’d gotten into bed, simply so he could more easily relish Jemma’s nearness. The press of her body along his was a reassuring anchor that they had lived to fight another day, and her warmth was quickly lulling him into a light doze. 

Jemma’s comment kept him from fully drifting off, though, as the fear and guilt he’d felt that afternoon came creeping back in. He didn’t want to feel that way, not when things had worked out for the best, but it still crept into his voice. “I didn’t do much, Jemma. Y’ created the antiserum. All I did was make the device y’ needed, following your instructions.” He paused, chewing his lip and debating whether he should finish the thought, but in the end went for it. “I would have done it, y’ know. I had the parachute. I was goin’ t’ jump-”

“Oh, Fitz, stop,” Jemma said in a rush, cutting him off. She squeezed her arm around him, shutting her eyes and resisting the urge to bury her face in his neck. “I know. I know you would have. I...I’m glad it was Ward, though, really, because you don’t have the training…”

The truth was that when Ward told her that he’d found Fitz with the parachute, getting ready to jump, Jemma had been terrified. She knew Fitz had only barely passed his field assessments, and had no experience at all with anything like skydiving. Attempting to follow her out of the plane would have been _extremely_ foolish and rash, and more than likely fatal for them both. The thought that he would have been so willing to do something so dangerous for her had struck her to her core, and even now, just thinking about how things could have gone so differently made her shiver.

But she also knew how Fitz thought--at least, she knew how he’d used to think--and was willing to bet his pride would suffer if she left it at that. Besides, that wasn’t what had mattered the most to her. She squeezed her arm around him again before tilting her face to look up at him.

“Ward did do an amazing thing, yes, but...it wasn’t him by my side in the lab, searching for a cure. It wasn’t him, giving me hope when I had none. That was _you._ And that means more to me than...anything else. _You’re_ the hero.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “Thank you.”

Fitz knew what Jemma was trying to do and that she meant well. And he could even see her reasoning; if they hadn’t argued, they might not have had the realization that they should have started with the Chitauri helmet instead of the men who had died. And he _had_ crafted the mechanism that delivered the antiserum Jemma had created. 

Despite all that, it still rankled. Fitz had spent his entire life watching men like Ward rush in and save the day. He would never be as big, strong, or fast as those men. He had told himself that having a greater intellect and being able to creatively solve problems made up for that, but that had all been thrown into question today. Because when push came to shove, Fitz likely wouldn’t be able to protect Jemma physically if she needed it. That didn’t sit well with him. 

He could feel Jemma tensed next to him, waiting for him to respond. Not trusting himself to find the right words, Fitz leaned down to kiss her instead. The simple act had an instantly calming effect on him, his muscles relaxing as he melted into Jemma’s hold. “Thanks, Jemma,” he finally answered. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

They exchanged a few more kisses and said their good nights before falling asleep curled together.


	7. Chapter 7

Fitz had hoped that having Jemma next to him in bed would allow him to get a restful night’s sleep, but he had no such luck. Instead he was plagued by dreams of Jemma, of watching her fall out of the cargo ramp again and again and again. It only stopped when he woke up in the wee hours of the morning, shooting bolt upright in bed as he called for her. 

Jemma’s sleep was no more restful; she dreamed of an endless freefall, the wind ripping at her and chilling her to the bone. She kept looking for Ward, hoping to see him, but he never came to save her. And somewhere, she thought she heard Fitz calling her name, the desperation and agony in his voice tearing her heart in two.

Until he really _was_ calling her name, shouting it into the silence of his bunk. She jerked awake with a start, crying out as he dislodged her in his panic. She had a second of disoriented confusion before she realized what was happening; then she sat up quickly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and doing her best to try and calm him.

“Fitz, Fitz,” she soothed, pressing her forehead against his temple and carding her fingers through his hair. “I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.” 

As she kissed his cheek, willing him to get his breathing under control, a loud _thump_ came from next door, followed by the sound of a bunk door sliding open. “Fitz?” came Skye’s voice. “Fitz, are you okay? Hey--” As her voice came closer, Jemma gasped, but before she could do anything, Fitz’s bunk door opened and Skye stood there looking sleepy and rumpled, backlit by the low running lights of the main cabin, her eyes wide with concern. “Hey, Fitz, you okay? You’re yelling--” 

Then her eyes moved past him to see Jemma, huddled beside him in bed, and her eyes went even rounder. “Oh, _shit._ ” 

Fitz closed his eyes and focused on inhaling slowly through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. His heart was still pounding, but having Jemma’s voice in his ear and feeling her fingers work through his hair was doing wonders to ground him. It had all been a dream. Jemma was safely tucked next to him. She was safe. Fitz blindly reached a hand out and caught her knee, giving it a light squeeze through the blanket. 

He’d been so focused on coming out of the dream and the sound of Jemma’s voice that he hadn’t heard Skye call out to him. And it wasn’t until he heard her quiet curse and saw the expression on the hacker’s face that Fitz realized what had just happened. So much for waiting to tell the team on their own terms. 

“Skye, what the hell are y’ doin’ in here?” Fitz hissed, trying to stay as quiet as possible. It was likely he’d woken everyone up as it was; he didn’t need them all running in here. “Shut the bloody door!”

“Sorry!” Skye hissed back, wincing and flapping her hands in front her. “Shit, sorry! I just, I heard you yelling and I wanted to make sure you were okay and--” She looked off to the side abruptly, as if she’d heard a noise from elsewhere in the cabin; then she pulled his door to, leaving just enough space for her to lean her head through. “But holy _shit_ you guys, you two are--wow. How long has this been going on? You guys were totally having ‘I can’t believe we survived’ sex right next door to me, weren’t you? _Eww._ ”

But she looked far too excited and interested for someone who was currently pretending to gag, and Jemma sighed as she let her forehead drop down onto Fitz’s shoulder.”It’s really none of your business, Skye,” she said quietly, even as she kept her hands curled around Fitz’s shoulders. They’d always been fierce guardians of their privacy, and from the way his muscles had gone stiff beneath her, she knew Fitz was on high alert now.

“We all live on top of each other on a plane,” Skye replied, tilting her head. “It’s sort of everyone’s business. You can’t hide it.” She narrowed her eyes at them. “Or have you been?”

Fitz wouldn’t have cared for Skye’s sudden interest in their personal lives under any circumstances, but that feeling was amplified by the way Jemma had ducked against him. He truly liked Skye. She was bright, funny, and certainly less guarded than the specialists on board which had made life on the Bus much more pleasant than he’d anticipated. But despite that Fitz wouldn’t stand to have her embarrass Jemma, no matter the circumstances. 

Pausing only long enough to drop a kiss on top of Jemma’s head, Fitz disentangled himself from the sheets and crossed to the door. His sudden proximity seemed to startle Skye, causing her to pull her head back through his door. 

“Good _night_ , Skye,” he practically growled at her while pointedly ignoring her question. He wasn’t going to entertain her inquiries now. Skye was tenacious to say the least, and Fitz was certain she’d make it a point to show up and pepper them with questions before she started her training for the day. He yanked at the door none too gently, pulling it from Skye’s grasp and leaving her staring at him in shock. “We’ll see y’ in the mornin’.” 

With that he finished pulling the door shut, the snick of it meeting the frame serving as a clear ending to the conversation. Fitz sighed and turned back to Jemma. She was still huddled under the covers, head hung. He took his spot next to her and brought a hand up to rub soothing arcs along her back. It was a relief to feel her press into his touch and gave Fitz the courage to find his voice.

“I’m sorry, Jemma. She’s never gonna let this go, is she?”

“No, she’s not,” Jemma murmured, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. “She’ll have questions. She doesn’t know any better not to ask.” She sighed. “We really should consider talking to Coulson as soon as possible, so he’ll hear it from us instead of her, or anyone else.”

Then she shifted, turning to run her hands up his arms to lightly squeeze his shoulders. “What about you? Are you alright?” 

“Better now.” It was as honest an answer Fitz could give her. Waking up from that dream followed by Skye barging in on them had left him feeling uneasy, but he was calming now thanks to Jemma. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer for a soft kiss, just enough to reassure them both. 

“We'll go talk t’ Coulson first thing. Hopefully that'll be enough.” He smiled at Jemma, feeling hopeful about the entire thing, despite everything else. “Is it terrible that I kinda wish we'd actually given her somethin’ t’ say 'eww’ about?”

Jemma laughed quietly, tipping her forehead against his as she slid her hands around to rest against his chest. A pulse of happiness thrummed in her heart. Being with Fitz again, having him close, was still so fresh and new; she thought if she blinked, it might all turn out to be a dream. 

“Maybe a little,” she replied, smiling. “But she was right--we do live in close quarters. Even if we’re very careful, the odds are that we’ll slip up at some point, don’t you think?”

Satisfied that Fitz was feeling better, she tugged him back down against the mattress, rearranging the twisted sheets and pulling them back up over them. “Do you think you can sleep again now?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He allowed himself to be tugged down, content to wrap Jemma in his arms once more as they settled into the berth. Fitz toyed with the ends of Jemma’s hair, content to allow himself to be lulled to sleep by the feel of her pressed against him. He only stayed awake long enough to exchange quiet “I love yous” with Jemma before drifting off to sleep once more. 

It wasn’t the most restful night he’d ever had. While Fitz drifted off, it wasn’t the deep sleep he’d been hoping to have before meeting with his commanding officer. He chalked it up to a subconscious fear of having another nightmare and waking everyone again, or perhaps even the worry that he and Jemma would have a tough decision to make come morning. The end result was that he found himself lying awake at times, watching Jemma and staring at the ceiling in turns between bouts of sleep. 

The only good that came of it was that Fitz was up well before any of the rest of their team. He woke Jemma as gently as he could, nudging her and giving her a kiss or two, and helped her out of bed. “Y’ should get ready first,” he explained, “before anyone else is up. Y’ can take the first shower.” 

Jemma nodded her understanding and gave him a quick kiss before gathering her clothes and ducking out of his bunk. That left Fitz to putter about, trying not to think too much about what was going to happen. He straightened his sheets and made his bed before turning his attention to his closet. He wasn’t sure he had something that was appropriate attire for a “please ignore that we are in flagrant violation of S.H.I.E.L.D. policy and let us stay on” conversation, but Fitz did his best, picking a button down and tie that he hoped made him look more serious than he usually did. 

Before he could go too far out of his mind with worry, he heard Jemma’s gentle knock at his door. Gathering his shower things, Fitz made quick work of scrubbing himself clean and carefully shaving. Feeling as presentable as he was going to be, he got dressed and headed out to find Jemma. 

She was waiting for him in the galley, hair neatly styled and impeccably dressed, with two mugs of tea before her. Wordlessly, she slid one to him with a soft smile. Fitz grinned back at her as he took a sip. Jemma still remembered how he took his tea, and the combination of starting - or rather reigniting - their romantic relationship combined with the familiarity gave him a particular kind of thrill. 

They drank their tea in silence, simply enjoying the moment together, until Fitz noticed the time. “We should go,” he murmured, not wanting to destroy the quiet entirely, and drained his mug. Jemma handed hers over as well to be left in the sink for later and they each took a deep breath. Without thinking twice, Fitz reached out and wrapped his fingers around Jemma’s and led them to the front of the plane and Coulson’s office. 

“Ready?” With Jemma’s little nod of encouragement, Fitz steeled himself and knocked on Coulson’s door. 

When Coulson’s voice came from within, telling them to enter, Jemma took a deep breath and pushed open the door, leading Fitz inside. She dropped his hand as they went in, though; it wasn’t that she was ashamed of him, but more that she didn’t want to poke the bear more than necessary. She wanted to start this conversation on a good, level note.

“Good morning, sir,” she chirped, putting as much cheer and goodwill into her voice and posture as she could, hoping it masked her nerves. She stopped just in front of Coulson’s desk, folding her hands in front of her and giving him her best professional smile. “Fitz and I would like to speak to you, if we could have a moment of your time,” she said.

Coulson pursed his lips, shrugging expressively as he gestured at the papers spread across his desk. “If it gets me out of doing reports for HQ for awhile, yeah. What can I do for you?”

Jemma glanced aside at Fitz, taking a steadying breath and making sure her smile was fixed in place. “Well, sir...Fitz and I thought it prudent to make you aware of a change in our relationship status.”

Clearly not expecting that to be what she had to say, Coulson raised an eyebrow at them. “Pardon?”

Jemma’s smile widened. “Yes. We, ah...we’ve become...romantically involved.”

Coulson sat back in his seat, giving them a considering look. “You _are_ aware that that is in direct violation of Section 17 of official S.H.I.E.L.D. policy, right?” he asked.

Jemma nodded. “Yes, we are.” She looked over at Fitz again, wanting to take strength from his presence. 

Fitz watched the exchange with the air of someone watching a train wreck. He recognized Jemma’s overly cheerful tone as the one she used when she was feeling particularly uncomfortable. That was to be expected, though. Even though they hadn’t worked with him long, Fitz knew they both liked and respected Coulson, and Jemma had never done well questioning authority as it were. Even when she was doing it as gently as she was at the moment. 

Reading the nervousness in Jemma’s eyes, Fitz stepped just a bit closer, enough to lend her support without being overly affectionate. His own nerves tightened as Coulson looked between the two of them, his face inscrutable. As it dragged on Fitz began to fear that they’d made the wrong play. They should have gone to Skye and begged her to simply keep her mouth shut. It would have been worth any teasing they endured. 

Eventually Coulson broke, sighing and returning to his paperwork. “It looks like I owe May some money.”

Confused, Fitz looked at Jemma before looking back at their boss. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Did you honestly believe,” Coulson began, leveling them with a look, “that you were recruited onto this team without being vetted? I know about your time at SciTech and then after at SciOps. There’s a nice little note in your file about your sharing an address, right up until Fitz requested S.H.I.E.L.D. housing, followed closely by a transfer.”

Fitz felt his cheeks flush and stared down at his toes. Even hearing it in Coulson’s impersonal tone brought everything rushing back, leaving Fitz feeling a bit ashamed. He was resolved not to let it happen this time though, and without thinking much of it he reached out to take Jemma’s hand in his. 

“Any agent worth their salt could read between the lines there,” Coulson continued, glancing at their hands before meeting their eyes. “Luckily for you, I hate paperwork. You will handle this like adults. There will be no sneaking into storage closets. You will not let this impact your work; the mission and the team can’t afford it. And if it goes south, you’d better be prepared to handle that like adults, too.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Jemma blinked, momentarily thrown by Coulson’s seemingly fast and easy acceptance of their relationship, and also by the stern manner with which he addressed them. She felt faintly like she was being chastised by her own father. 

“Oh--yes, yes sir,” she gushed once she’d recovered, relief flooding her system. She squeezed Fitz’s hand in hers. “And you won’t have to worry about us, sir, not at all. We’re very professional. We’ll keep completing our work to the highest standard, without a hint of trouble. I don’t suppose there was anything in our files about our exemplary performance record together before, was there?”

Coulson just stared at her.

“No?” she squeaked. “Right. Well...we’ll just let you get back to those reports for HQ then, shall we?” Acutely aware that Fitz was staring at her, she gave Coulson her best smile again before turning and leading Fitz from his office, but not before she saw what looked like an amused expression cross their boss’s face..

It was only once they were a safe distance away from the door that Jemma let out the breath that she’d been holding, stopping and turning to face Fitz in the narrow hallway, bringing her hands up to lightly grasp his arms. “Well, that went much better than I expected,” she said quietly, though her sunny facade lingered. “Far better. I can’t believe he just...gave in like that.”

Fitz was still reeling, both from the conversation and from watching whatever Jemma had just done. He adored her more than words could say, and found even her quirkiest behavior utterly charming, but what had happened had nearly been a disaster. As such, Fitz was just glad Coulson hadn’t threatened to boot them off the Bus and write them up with HQ. 

“I know,” he whispered, disbelieving. His mind was whirring though, trying to think through why Coulson had been so lenient with them. “They say he’s…changed, since what happened in New York. Maybe this is part o’ that?” 

Fitz supposed it wasn’t that far a stretch to believe that a man who had died in the line of duty only to be brought back would feel differently about his job. They had already seen on the few missions they’d run together that Coulson was a bit more lax than other level 8 agents, considering most of them wouldn’t have allowed their team to just jump in with ideas the way he did. 

“Either way, I’m just glad that’s out o’ the way. Hopefully speakin’ with Skye will be that easy.” 

“Maybe,” Jemma replied. “I almost don’t want to question it. If he’s not booting us out on our bums, I’ll take it.” Then she huffed a soft laugh. “Hopefully so, with Skye,” she said, “but I doubt we’ll be so lucky. You know how she is. She’ll want _details._ ”

Sure enough, as Fitz and Jemma made their way through the main cabin a moment later, intent on heading down to the lab to get an early start on their day’s work, Skye spotted them from the galley where she was eating a bowl of cereal.

“Mmmm!” she hummed loudly, setting her bowl down and holding up both her hands, signalling them to stop. “Mmm!” Then she pointed to her mouth, where she was hastily chewing, and came quickly around the side of the counter towards them. Wanting to avoid the conversation, both Jemma and Fitz sped up to try and go around her, but Skye was faster. She jumped in front of them, blocking their path.

“Oh no you don’t!” she cried, holding up her hands again. “You’re not shutting me out this time. I need answers. Spill.”

“Skye, please,” Jemma said, sighing. “There’s really nothing to tell. And it’s our own private business, anyway, you don’t _need_ anything.”

“Sure I do,” Skye countered easily, smiling. “You guys are my friends and I care about you. I like knowing when good things happen to you. So, you’re a _thing_ now, right? For how long?”

Well, when she put it like that...Jemma’s heart couldn’t help but soften slightly, and she looked at Fitz, asking him a question with her eyes. They already knew she would find out one way or another eventually and, as they’d discussed, it would probably be best if it came straight from them. At his slight nod, she turned back to Skye.

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes fondly, “we are a ‘thing’. Since yesterday.” The short version would have to suffice for now. 

Skye let out an excited squeal. “Oh my god!” she cried, clapping her hands to her mouth when Jemma and Fitz automatically moved to shush her. “Oh, god, sorry, just--yesterday! So it was totally a thing where you had a brush with death and realized your feelings for each other, right? I _knew_ there was something going on between you two. That is so _sweet!_ Oh my god, tell me _everything_ \--”

“‘Tell me everything’ about what?” Ward asked, coming around the corner into the lounge and sounding bored.

Fitz’ eyes went wide and he gave a brief, almost violent shake of his head in Skye’s direction. He knew that Ward would find out eventually - and sooner rather than later at that - but he’d like to put it off for as long as possible. 

“Oh, nothing,” Skye covered, “just this drafting program Fitz was talking about. He was just telling us about the possible applications.” She shot him a significant look and Fitz jumped to pick up the thread of the conversation. 

“Right, the draftin’ program. We were just headed t’ the lab t’ show Skye.” Fitz glanced at the specialist’s face and took a risk based on what he saw there. “If y’ want, you're welcome t’ come down, too, Ward.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.” Ward crossed to the coffee machine and set about making himself a cup. “And you can’t either, Skye. Training in 15. Finish breakfast and meet me downstairs.” With that, he grabbed an apple and walked into the lounge, leaving the three of them alone once more. 

They all watched him go until he was out of earshot; then they sagged with relief. Skye turned back to face Fitz and Jemma and gave them a thumbs up. “Nailed it,” she said, keeping her voice low enough that there was no chance Ward would overhear. “And don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” She gave them a bright smile and tapped the side of her nose.

Crossing her arms, Jemma gave her friend a bemused look. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Skye; it was more that she didn’t know how to take her overenthusiastic personality sometimes. “We appreciate it Skye, truly. And--thank you. For being happy for us.” Her smile turned softer, more genuine, before she nodded at Fitz and turned to head for the lab.


	8. Chapter 8

The next two weeks passed rather quietly, all things considered. The team completed several routine missions without much fuss, without anything approaching the level of risk that Jemma had faced in Pennsylvania. She found herself rather grateful for it. While she’d grown used to the thrill of living on the edge out in the field, as it were, she wasn’t sorry for a reprieve from it, however brief. Nearly losing her life had made her lose her appetite for it.

Things between Jemma and Fitz had quietly bloomed as well, too. True to their word, they kept things strictly professional while in the lab and out on missions, and even while they were out around the others for the most part, even in the evenings during their downtime. Occasionally Jemma would rest a hand on Fitz’s knee while they sat on the sofa in the lounge, or he would drape an arm around her shoulders--that was how Ward had learned of their relationship, in the end. The only response they’d gotten from him was a raised eyebrow and a “huh”.

(May, who’d presumably found out from Coulson when he went to collect on the bet he’d implied existed, offered up no response at all. Jemma expected nothing less.)

But it was the times that they were alone that Jemma was happiest. Sometimes they would beg off evenings early and retire to one of their bunks and spend their time curled up together, talking, catching up on all of the time they’d missed--even tentatively broaching the tender subjects of the hurts they’d wrought on each other, carefully working things through. It wasn’t without its bumps; tears were shed, but it was always for the purpose of a better understanding, or a load lifted from a heavy heart, or a catharsis badly-needed and a long time in coming. They still had a way to go, but it was an excellent start.

More often than not, they still spent the night together too, preferring to sleep together rather than alone, having been spoiled that first night. On the occasions that Skye caught Jemma leaving Fitz’s bunk or vice versa in the morning, she always made googly faces at them, trying to get a laugh. Sometimes she even succeeded.

When the call came in from HQ that they were needed at the Hub, Jemma couldn’t contain her excitement. She had never visited that particular S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, and was looking forward to seeing one of the large nerve centers of the agency’s activity. Not only that, it was Fitz’s old stomping grounds, and she was eager for him to give her the grand tour while Coulson, May, and Ward were busy being briefed on their assigned mission.

Fitz had felt indifferent about returning to the Hub. He had enjoyed working there, yes, and had decent working relationships with his colleagues, but he couldn’t say the place had ever felt like home. When he was younger he thought the sheer size and hectic nature of the place had been the cause of that, but in truth it had been the absence of one particular someone that left him feeling adrift. 

Being able to see the Hub through Jemma’s eyes gave him a new appreciation for it. The things he had taken for granted there seemed to thrill her and Fitz was happy to answer whatever she asked. And if he took advantage of the opportunity to show off a bit too, he didn’t think he could be blamed. After all, Jemma was not an easy woman to impress; he had to make the most of the few opportunities he got. When she asked to see the Tech Corridor, and specifically the new chem kits that had just been developed, Fitz was more than happy to lead the way. 

“Just let me see if I can find Murphy - he’s the chemistry head - t’ give us a demonstration. His desk is right over-” 

He’d been looking over his shoulder at Jemma instead of paying attention to where he’d been walking. The end result was that Fitz collided with another someone, sending them both reeling backward even as they each rushed to spit out apologies. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there-”

“No, I wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’-”

Fitz froze. He knew that voice. Looking up, he saw a petite blonde smiling up at him. Before he realized what was happening she was on him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and catching his forearm in what felt like a death grip. 

“Leopold Fitz! I haven’t seen you in ages! How’ve you been?” 

The way she was looking at him was oddly expectant, leaving Fitz with the beginnings of panic gripping his stomach. His eyes darted between Jemma and the other woman as he tried to will himself through the floor. When it became evident that that wasn’t a possibility, he settled on making introductions instead. 

“Erm, hi, Michelle. I’m good, y’ know, in the field now-” Fitz caught a pointed look from Jemma and rushed to bring her into the conversation. “Have y’ met my, er, my partner, Jemma Simmons? She and I are stationed together with Coulson’s unit. Jemma, this is Michelle Thomas. She’s a software engineer over in the Communications Division.”

Jemma stopped short, her hands automatically going up to try and steady Fitz as he collided with the woman who’d crossed in front of him, but she stopped herself when she saw that he was okay. Before she could say anything, the woman’s face lit up in recognition, and she leaned up to kiss Fitz’s cheek.

Jemma only just kept herself from gaping in shock as an uncomfortable feeling roiled through her stomach. It almost felt like jealousy. Who was this woman, and who was she to Fitz? The last time she’d checked, coworkers most certainly did _not_ kiss cheeks on greeting. _Especially_ not agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Fitz’s deer-trapped-in-the-headlights look nor his awkward introduction wasn’t helping things either. If Jemma had to guess, and her guesses were usually right, this was an ex-girlfriend. At the very least, a third date, judging by her familiar manner with him. Lovely. And though she knew he’d referred to her as his partner deliberately, as it was a neutral term, sticking to their promise to be professional while on the clock, she didn’t think she’d ever wished more to be called his girlfriend.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jemma said, stepping forward and offering her hand and an overly-bright smile. She made sure her handshake was only as firm and enthusiastic as it needed to be. “I don’t think Fitz has ever mentioned you.”

Jemma had several smiles, all of which Fitz had seen over the years in a variety of situations. This particular one, while seeming friendly to those who didn’t know her, had warning bells sounding in Fitz’ mind. They only intensified as she shook Michelle’s hand and the other woman’s eyes narrowed at the slight Jemma had so calmly delivered. 

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t, I suppose. We didn’t often see each other for...work-related reasons.” There was no missing the look Michelle gave Jemma or the way she allowed her eyes to rove over Fitz, who suddenly found it hard to breathe. There was no way he was going to make it out of this alive, and all for a bloody chem kit.

“Really? That’s fascinating,” Jemma said politely, smiling, folding her arms and tilting her head, purposely ignoring what she could see of Fitz out of the corner of her eye. The nerve this woman had, looking at him that way in public as if he were a piece of meat, in a _professional_ setting, made her blood boil. “Fitz and I are quite close, we talk about anything and everything, both work-related and not, and I really don’t think you’ve ever come up. But you know how it is.” She smiled again. “A genius like Fitz, a mind like his...sometimes it has to get rid of some of the clutter to make way for the more important information.” 

Fitz saw something change in Michelle’s expression, her eyes going sly as she looked between him and Jemma. For a moment, Fitz was grateful that she understood. She would back off and they could go about their-

“Oh, is that so? Well, Fitz,” Michelle stepped nearer to him once more, far closer than Fitz felt comfortable with at the moment. “If you need to clear a little clutter-” she shot Jemma a pointed look “-while you’re here, give me a call. Or, if you’ve forgotten my number, I’m sure you remember the way to my quarters.” 

With that she sauntered off, leaving Fitz to gape after her and wonder what the hell he had ever done to the universe to deserve this. This was not how today was meant to go. All he’d wanted to do was show Jemma the Tech Corridor, maybe play with some new gadgets, then go back to the Bus and curl up with her in one of their bunks. Now he’d be lucky if Jemma let him anywhere near her. 

“Jemma, I- she isn’t-” Fitz stumbled over his words, trying to find the right thing to say to her, but his mind failed him. All he could think was that Jemma had the wrong idea about what he’d been up to when he was away from her. He hated that more than anything else. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he finished lamely, hanging his head with a sigh. “She - It wasn’t serious. At least not on my end.” Hearing the words come out of his mouth, Fitz doubted they would save him any. Still, it was as close to an explanation as he could give Jemma in public, and after Michelle’s little display he felt he owed her at least that much. 

Jemma was fairly sure she saw red in her vision as the other woman walked away, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she barely held back an indignant squawk of rage. The gall! That woman knew-- _knew_ \--that Jemma and Fitz were together, and yet she’d still had the indecency to step into his space like that and practically proposition him--again, in the middle of a work environment--and then look at her as if she were dirt on her shoe. She wanted to scream, or stamp her foot in frustration.

(Or drag Fitz into the nearest storage closet and thoroughly debauch him, thus staking her claim. She’d never much been one for clandestine liaisons, but suddenly Coulson’s warnings against doing such things made more sense.)

Then she forced herself to take a moment and step back. She’d never counted herself a jealous woman, not really, but she hadn’t exactly been subtle just now. She’d basically engaged in a catfight over a man, and poor Fitz...well, he looked discomfited and awkward as hell. Her hurt feelings and jealousy didn’t really have a place here. He didn’t owe her anything regarding what he’d done during his time away from her. After all, she’d had relationships too, some of them intimate.

Taking a step toward him, Jemma laid a light hand on Fitz’s arm, as much affection as she dared show in the middle of an open Hub corridor, and gave him a bracing smile. “It’s fine, Fitz,” she said quietly, though she wasn’t able to clear her voice as much as she’d liked. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s...that was your own time.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, trying to brighten her smile. “So, how about those chem kits?” 

On anyone else that might have worked, but not on Fitz. He could still see the shadow in Jemma’s eyes and in that moment he could have strangled Michelle. She’d created a scene over what had only been an office flirtation followed by one ill-conceived night. And as much as Jemma might say it didn’t matter, it was important to Fitz that she know. He licked his lips and inched closer, still keenly aware that they were in public. Fitz would have preferred to be able to kiss her, but instead settled for resting his hand at her waist and allowing his thumb to drift aimlessly. He hoped it soothed her as much as it soothed him. 

“I mean it, Jemma.” Fitz looked at her, gaze earnest as he tried to communicate with his eyes what he wasn’t willing to say where anyone could hear them. Hoping that was enough, he used his hand on her waist to guide her down the hall once more. 

“Murphy’s office is just down this way. Let’s see what he might have t’ show us, hmm?”

Their visit with Murphy went a long way to improve the tension between them, and Fitz enjoyed watching Jemma as the latest toys from the Hub’s Chemistry Division were explained to her. She lit up as she went back and forth with Murphy about design and application, the tension she’d been carrying leaking out of her as she turned her attention to science. Fitz found he could relax, too. 

That changed a few hours later when Coulson informed him that he and Ward had been drafted into service by Victoria Hand. Her name alone caused Fitz to blanch. Working at the Hub for so long, he naturally knew who Victoria Hand was. What he hadn’t been aware of was that she knew him, and while part of him was thrilled that a S.H.I.E.L.D. legend knew his name and wanted him for a mission, he was also terrified of what it might mean if he screwed up. 

Fitz did his best to maintain his calm by reminding himself that there was no way he would have been picked if they didn’t believe he was the man for the job. He could handle the tech, Ward would have his back, and they would be back from Ossetia in no time. Or at least those were the thoughts he kept running through his mind as he packed, trying not to let on that he was nervous in front of Jemma. 

Jemma sat on Fitz’s bed and watched him pack, trying her best not to wring her hands as he worked. Any irritation or hurt she’d felt over running into Fitz’s ex had been pushed to the back of her mind by the news of his mission. She knew logically that Fitz could take care of himself, and that Ward would take care of anything else should it arise, but she couldn’t help but worry. Fitz had never gone on a field mission quite like _this_ before. And she knew that if she expressed that worry, he would get tetchy--I’m capable, he’d say, I can do this, don’t fuss--so she went down her mental inventory list of things he might need out in the field to keep him safe.

“Did I give you an antivenin pack?” she asked, checking the bag she’d brought up from the lab. She found a box and held it out to him. “The Caucasus have a plethora of highly endemic spider species--”

True to form, Fitz admonished her for making a fuss over him. Chastened, Jemma watched him pack his bag in silence for a moment reaching into her own bag again. “I did make you this,” she said, pulling out a package wrapped in paper and sealed in plastic. “Your favorite sandwich.” She held it out to him with a small smile.

“Is that what I think it is? With your homemade pesto aioli?”

Jemma’s smile widened as she nodded, and any annoyance Fitz had felt flew out the window. He knew his attitude wasn’t fair to Jemma. It was really just his nerves about going into the field without the rest of the team close at hand, not her fussing, but he found it difficult to control his tongue at times. Grinning back at her, Fitz leaned over his pack to take the sandwich with one hand while catching her by the back of the neck with the other. 

“Thanks, Jemma,” he whispered as he used his hold to tug her forward into a kiss. Fitz was calculating the time they had left, and he was seriously considering dropping the sandwich to really focus on Jemma when a burst of noise interrupted him. 

“Hey- Oh, god! At least shut the door if you two are going to do that kind of thing in the middle of the day!”

They jerked apart and Fitz leveled a glare at Skye. 

“Y’ know, another option would be t’ not come bargin’ into my bunk.”

For all her protesting that she didn’t want to see them “sucking each other’s faces off,” Skye looked awfully pleased with herself for interrupting. Fitz suddenly found that he’d never been more grateful to be an only child if this is what having younger siblings was like. 

“Y’ needed something?” he prompted, tone testy. 

“Yeah, is this what you wanted? Also, what is this?”

No longer in the mood to answer her questions, Fitz snatched the full-size mag pouch from Skye and hastily shoved it in his bag. He could feel Jemma’s eyes on him, questioning but not wanting to say the wrong thing. Fitz shot her what he hoped was a reassuring look as he finished packing. The sooner he could be on his way, the sooner he could be back, after all.

Once Fitz was done packing, she followed him out to the command center to meet up with Ward and the rest of the team. He was focused and ready to go, his mind already on the mission. She wanted to steal one last kiss, just for good luck, but Coulson and May were there, looking stern. Instead, she had to content herself with giving Fitz’s arm a squeeze and whispering “be careful” to him. He smiled reassuringly at her, then he and Ward turned to leave the Bus.

Several hours later, Jemma was wishing she’d taken that kiss. Skye’s discomfort with being in the dark over Fitz’s and Ward’s mission had steadily fed into Jemma’s own worries, until she found herself on her own mission, with Skye, breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database vaults, trying to find more more information on what Fitz and Ward were up to. It was all going quite well until she ran into Agent Sitwell, an upper level officer who took too keen an interest into what she was up to on a restricted hallway.

So she was forced to improvise. She decided to turn on the charm, using her natural likeability to her advantage. But it didn’t work. Sitwell grew even more suspicious, calling for an escort over his radio. In a fit of panic, Jemma pulled out the Night-Night Pistol she was carrying in her bag and shot Sitwell square in the chest, knocking him out. 

“Oh my god!” Skye cried out over their comm. “Oh my god--”

“I’m so sorry,” Jemma breathed out in a rush, horrified at what she’d just done. “Oh no--” Next to her, the panel that she’d plugged a flash drive into, looking for data on Fitz’s mission, beeped. She frantically grabbed for it, stuffing it into her pocket. Then, looking both ways, at a loss for anything else to do, she bent to grab Sitwell by the legs and pulled him out of view of the main hallway, grunting with the effort. Once he was out of the way, she ran back to Skye.

“I shot Agent Sitwell,” she gasped.

“Yeah, I saw,” Skye replied, eyes wide. “What the hell was that? You are _terrible_ at this, that was a total meltdown! Is that how you flirt with Fitz?!”

Jemma blinked, confused. “What?”

“That,” Skye said, pointing in the direction of where she’d left Sitwell. “That totally embarrassing display you just put on. How the hell did you and Fitz ever get together?” When Jemma just continued to stare at her, breathing hard, she said, “You know what? Nevermind. I don’t wanna know. We need help. You need to go get May.”

When Skye discovered that there was no extraction plan for Fitz and Ward, Jemma felt her heart turn to ash. She’d trusted that S.H.I.E.L.D. would take care of their own, have a plan in place to send them in and get them safely back out, but they’d sent them on a suicide mission without their knowledge. All she could think was that she had lost him when she’d just got him back, and she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.

So it was a huge relief when May and Coulson came over to their side and decided to use the Bus to go extract Fitz and Ward themselves. Jemma was a bundle of nerves the entire way to Ossetia, knowing she wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she saw Fitz for herself, whole and healthy and in one piece. She decided to wait in the lab, so she could see him as soon as he came up the cargo ramp, and tried to restrain herself from running at him as soon as he arrived. She didn’t want to wound his pride by letting him know how much she’d worried.

The sight of Jemma standing there, hands fidgeting at her side as she waited for Coulson to finish speaking was the best thing Fitz had seen in days. He was itching to touch her, but forced himself to keep the conversation as neutral as possible. He couldn’t manage to school his face, however, and the soft, affectionate look he only ever wore for Jemma took over his features. He felt a tad guilty lying to her about the fate of his sandwich, but between a white lie and telling her that they’d been chased by gun-wielding separatists, Fitz opted to tell the version of events that would help Jemma maintain her calm. 

Jemma helped him hoist the travel case with their remaining gear onto the lab bench so they could begin the somewhat tedious process of unpacking and storing everything before takeoff. Wanting to pass the time, and perhaps wanting to show off a bit for Jemma, Fitz nodded at Ward and gave her what he hoped was a gallant look. 

“Y’ know, I had t’ save him from a gang o’ Russian mobsters. And I kicked a few guys’ heads in.” He feigned a sigh, hoping to draw a question from Jemma. When it became clear she wouldn’t ask him - and was clearly dying to share something herself, Fitz turned the conversation away from him. “But enough mission talk already. Anything excitin’ happen at the Hub?”

Jemma felt a swell of pride as she listened to Fitz’s summary of his mission--he really had done well for himself. It sounded very daring, and she couldn’t deny that there was something very attractive about the way he was carrying himself, worn and rumpled from his adventure but shoulders back and a bit of a rakish tilt to his chin. It made her smile, but even that was drowned out by the need to tell him about her own little escapade. Don’t do anything rash, he’d said. Well. She’d rather broken that promise. But it had been for a good cause.

She curled her hands together on top of the travel case and smiled even wider at him, a bit of a manic gleam to her eyes. “I shot a superior officer in the chest.”

Whatever he’d expected Jemma to say, it hadn’t been _that_. Fitz felt his jaw go slack as he stared at Jemma, disbelieving. There was no way that Jemma - _his_ Jemma - had just said that. The woman who thrived on earning top marks on all of her performance reviews, who had never met a rule she didn’t like, hadn’t just admitted to shooting- Fitz’ brain stuttered just thinking about it. 

And not just because he found the idea of Jemma with a gun startlingly hot. 

“I’m sorry, y’ did _what_?”

Jemma nodded, reliving the memory of the panic she’d gone through in that moment. “I had no choice! Skye and I, we were trying to find information on your mission, which required accessing restricted data, and Agent Sitwell happened upon me, and, he was about to call an escort, and well--he was right there and I had the Night-Night Gun and--it just happened!” She let out an uncharacteristically girlish giggle. “I didn’t even think! I just did it!”

Fitz closed his eyes with a quiet groan. Jemma had shot Jasper Sitwell, of all people, with tech he’d created. Fitz had never particularly liked Sitwell when he’d been stationed at the Hub - there was something about him that just felt _off_ \- but the man was close to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s inner circle. By shooting him with tech Fitz had created, Jemma had put them both on his radar. And not in a way that could advance their careers. 

Still, Fitz had to admit it was a bit funny. Sitwell, who walked around puffed up with his own importance, had been felled by a tiny English scientist with what amounted to a tranquilizer gun. Fitz nibbled on his lower lip as he considered that image, growing more amused by the moment. And Jemma looked so excited by her foray into any kind of covert operation that he couldn’t find it in him to chastise her. 

“Jemma, I’m glad y’ had fun,” he began, picking over his words carefully. “But y’ can’t go around shootin’ people with the Night-Night Gun. And y’ _really_ can’t go shootin’ Level 8 agents with it. It’s just… it’s a really good way t’ get fired is all.”

Jemma nodded again, looking completely serious. “Oh, I thought I would be court martialed for sure, Victoria Hand was furious, but May handled everything. _May!_ And Coulson, too, once he discovered what was going on.” Then she gave a frustrated sigh. “I just can’t _believe_ they sent you in without an extraction plan! It’s ridiculous that they valued you and Ward so little! And that we had to resort to subterfuge and--and shenanigans to even figure it out in the first place! Imagine what would have happened to you if we hadn’t done it.” She shivered a little. “I feel completely justified in having done it. I’d do it again, if I had to.” She’d do anything, if it meant keeping Fitz safe.

All of the warnings he’d wanted to give her dissipated when he saw the earnestness of Jemma’s expression. She really had thought his life had been in danger… And it had, Fitz supposed. He just hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment. All he’d been focused on was getting the job done and getting home; he hadn’t stopped to think about what it might have done to Jemma, who’d only been able to sit at the Hub and wait for him. 

He didn’t stop to think. He found his feet moving, guiding him around the lab bench until he was standing in front of Jemma. Heedless of the cameras in the lab, or the possibility that any of their team members could be watching, Fitz swept her into a kiss. With his hands on her cheeks Fitz guided Jemma where he wanted her, pouring what he could into the kiss without getting them in trouble. 

“Thanks, Jemma,” he whispered when they pulled away, both more than a little breathless. “Thanks for havin’ my back, even when I didn’t know it.”


	9. Chapter 9

They had barely recovered from Ossetia when Thor arrived on the scene, throwing the world into chaos and leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. to clean up the mess. Fitz had hoped that things would be quiet long enough for them to actually enjoy being back in the UK, but his hopes were again in vain as they were set off on a wild goose chase for the Berserker Staff. 

There were several parts of that ordeal Fitz would have been happy to skip, namely the lecherous Asgardian who’d been so keen on flirting with Jemma. It had set him on edge, having to be cordial to the man since they needed him to cooperate while he made eyes at his girlfriend, but he bit back his impulse to tell him off. Randolph had ultimately proven useful, though, enabling them to beat the pagans to the last piece of the staff and win the day. 

The cost of it was worrisome though. Fitz had listened over comms as Ward took up the staff and had been on the receiving end of a tongue lashing from him in the lab. After the way they’d teamed up in Ossetia, hearing Ward accuse Fitz of being unable to protect Jemma or carry his weight on the team had stung. He had been feeling more friendly toward Ward, and had thought the other man had come to respect his ability in the field. Now he was left to wonder if that was actually the case at all. 

The question left him feeling moody as he stared into his pint. Fitz gave himself a little shake to snap out of it. He was meant to be meeting Jemma here in the hotel bar for a drink; he knew they both had hopes that it could serve as their first proper date now that they were back together. He didn’t want to ruin it with his mood. 

Who knew when they’d have a chance to do this again? They were usually only on the ground long enough to solve a case before packing up again. Jemma deserved a nice night out, and he was determined to give it to her. 

Jemma had been quietly thrilled to have an evening off on the ground, booked into a nice hotel on the company dime’s. It meant that she and Fitz would have an opportunity to have some time alone to themselves, to go on something like a real date. Chances like this would be few and far between on the Bus, and she wanted to make the most of it.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had booked separate rooms for all of them, but Fitz and Jemma had ignored that and taken both of their things straight to Fitz’s room. Skye had shot them a smirk as she’d let herself into her own room, two doors down, and told them to enjoy themselves. Jemma had rolled her eyes.

The room was nice, a little more swanky than something Jemma would have paid for on her own, spacious without being ostentatious. They’d set their bags down on the floor and stretched, taking a few minutes to get acquainted with the room. Then they set about getting ready for their evening together.

Jemma had taken a quick shower, wanting to fully rid herself of any lingering traces of Randolph’s blood, and had just finished drying her hair and doing her makeup when Fitz elected to go ahead downstairs to the hotel bar and snag them some seats. It was a Friday night and it was sure to be crowded, he said, and he didn’t want them to miss out. She’d smiled, her eyes lingering over how handsome he looked in his dress pants and dark shirt, the top button undone, and told him she’d be down as quickly as she could.

Then she’d smiled at her choice of apparel. She hadn’t brought a lot of nice things with her on the Bus, wanting to devote her limited wardrobe space to more practical things, but in the interest of being prepared for anything she’d packed a couple of dresses. One of them was the little black dress she was currently putting on, a versatile number that could be dressed up or down in a number of ways to suit the occasion. It had a scoop neck and fitted bodice to her waist, where the skirt flared out to just above her knees. It was modest, but flattered her figure quite nicely; it was a favorite of hers. She’d chosen simple black flats to go with it--nothing _too_ fancy--and, after a moment’s consideration, decided to dress herself up a little by pulling her hair back into a simple twist. She wanted to impress Fitz, after all, for this: their second first date.

She was slightly out of breath as she hurried into the bar a few minutes later, having gone as fast as she dared without looking indecent, not wanting to keep Fitz waiting. She sighted him at the bar and threaded her way through the crowd toward him, her face lighting up when their eyes met.

“Fitz! I’m sorry I took so long,” she said as she approached him, eyes bright, smoothing down her skirt before taking a seat at the bar next to him. “I hope you haven’t been too bored.”

He stared at Jemma, openly taken by how she looked in her dress with her hair up. He had never actually seen her like this. When they first met, jeans and a clean oxford had constituted dressing up, and since the nicest place they could afford to go had been the diner near campus, that had sufficed. Thinking back on it, he wasn’t certain he’d ever seen Jemma in a dress. Now Fitz knew just what he’d missed out on. 

Licking his lips, he let his eyes scan her over, enjoying the sight of her in something other than her lab clothes. He had always found her beautiful, be it in jeans and a jumper or her pajamas, but there was something about seeing her dressed up a bit and knowing it was because they were spending time together that left Fitz feeling content in a way he hadn’t expected. 

“It’s okay,” he answered, signaling to the bartender to take Jemma’s order. He waited for him to finish before giving Jemma a soft smile. “Y’ look really nice, Jemma.”

Jemma beamed at him as she crossed her legs and angled herself toward him on her barstool. “Thank you,” she said, feeling pleased and very nice, indeed. “I feel very put together for having such short notice.” Then she gave him an appreciative once-over, her eyes lingering on his lips. “You look nice, too. You clean up rather well for a scientist.” 

It was nice to be able to engage in a little bit of flirtation, knowing that Fitz entirely returned her interest. It left Jemma feeling light and airy in a way she hadn’t felt in years, happy, full of anticipation for the night to come. She had plans.

“Have you seen anyone else down here?” she asked, nodding at the bartender as he gave her her drink. “Skye, Ward? Even May or Coulson?” She took a sip, her nose scrunching up thoughtfully. “What do you think they do on leave? Honestly, I can’t imagine May having a bit of fun at a bar. Or any fun, really. Coulson, perhaps, but not May. She’s so--strict.”

The fluttering hem of her dress momentarily caught Fitz’ attention as Jemma crossed her legs and he had to take a deep breath to regain his focus. There would be plenty of time for that later. Because Fitz had plans to make good use of a room with thicker walls and a door that sat flush with both the ceiling and the floor. 

“I think May’s version o’ fun would be usin’ the hotel gym.” Fitz lifted his pint to his lips for a sip and scanned the bar, thinking of what his teammates might be doing. “Skye would be over there, chattin’ up that stag party in the corner. Ward would brood at the bar, and Coulson…” Fitz sucked in a breath and thought about his next statement. Their boss was a hard man to pin down in terms of interests. “Coulson would take his drink and sit over by the piano player.”

Jemma grinned as she took another sip of her drink. “Well done, Fitz, I think you’ve got our team pinned down,” she said, amused. “Very perceptive. Ward would absolutely brood alone, I agree--whiskey, you think, or scotch?--and Coulson would ask the piano man if he took requests. But then there’s us. On a proper date. Well, almost. We don’t have time for a full meal or the cinema or anything like that, but we can do this, at least. Which is a first!” Her eyes sparkled. “We weren’t even old enough to drink yet in the States when you left. And I didn’t really make a habit of it much after I became of age, either. The typical bar scene didn’t hold a lot of interest for me, and then men who tried to pick me up there…well.” She gave her glass a significant look. “The less said the better.” 

Then she looked back up and gave him a bright smile. “But I think my present company is more than enough to keep me interested.” She tapped his calf with the side of her foot. “What about you? Any interesting bar stories?” 

Fitz didn’t miss Jemma’s comment about men picking her up in bars, although he actively chose to ignore it. It would only fan the flame of his jealousy, misguided as that particular impulse might have been. It also didn’t matter much in the long run; he and Jemma were back together now, and there was no way in hell Fitz was ever going to let her go again. He elected to try to make her laugh instead. 

“I’m Agent Grant Ward,” he growled in his worst American accent, head cocked to the side and squinting a bit at Jemma, “and I only drink the finest of American bourbons.”

Jemma’s peal of laughter made the impression - goofy as it was - worth the looks he got from the other patrons. Fitz loved that sound, and he loved that he was the one that had made her laugh. He watched her for a moment, content simply being next to her, before addressing her actual question. 

“Hmm. Bar stories.” Fitz made a show of thinking as he finished his beer and asked for another. “Not many good bar stories from the Hub - too isolated. But I’d go out with my cousins whenever I took leave and went home. They… Well, let’s just say that they always made sure I went home blind drunk. Most o’ those nights I only remember what they told me happened.”

Jemma was still recovering from her bout of laughter over Fitz’s impression of Ward. She knew he could do a passable American accent if he chose to, but that had been deliberately awful. She got the feeling it was in retaliation for their teammate's recent treatment of him, and while she hated that Fitz had had his sense of worth shaken (and she knew that he had, even if he hadn't said as much to her yet), she found Fitz’s mocking to be completely charming.

“Sounds scandalous,” she replied, in reference to his exploits with his cousins. She couldn't keep a note of surprise from her voice; she wouldn't have expected that of Fitz, who had been so shy and reserved when they'd first met. She'd had a hard enough time dragging him out to try different ethnic restaurants in the area. She couldn't imagine him going hard down the pub. “I hope you trusted them to keep you in line. They weren't trying to get you to impress anyone, were they?”

She knew she was toeing a fine line with her newly-awakened jealousy, asking about potential conquests with the memory of Michelle from the Hub still fresh in her mind, but a part of her was genuinely curious. 

“There wasn’t much else t’ do in Glasgow other than go t’ the pub or sit at someone’s house and drink. At least goin’ t’ the pub felt less like the start o' a drinkin’ problem.” Fitz had seen too many of his family members go down that particular path; while he and his cousins liked to tie one on, they tried not to make too much of a habit of it, and it was a rare event now that they were older.

Fitz observed that Jemma had looked down when she’d asked about whether he’d set out to impress anyone. There was a part of him that preened at the hint that she was jealous over him, but he mostly wanted to reassure her. All the times he had ever tried seeing anyone had fallen through because he simply couldn’t connect with them the way he had with Jemma. She’d ruined him for other women. 

“We never went out t’ impress anyone,” he said with a laugh. “If anythin’, we annoyed the hell out o’ everyone else. We were just a group of locals with nothin’ else t’ do, and I was a novelty because I was never home.

“They liked t’ tease me. They’d try t’ get me t’ tell them what I did for S.H.I.E.L.D., and would keep feedin’ me drinks in the hopes I’d slip up. They, uh-” Fitz blushed, knowing he’d be revealing a lot with his next statement. “They said I only ever talked about one thing, whenever they asked about work. They said that I’d only ever talk about you.” 

“Oh,” Jemma said in surprise, her cheeks similarly coloring, and sat back on her stool a bit. She honestly hadn’t expected that. It sent a flutter through her stomach. Spinning her glass slowly on the bar with her fingertips, she added, “Well, I hope it wasn’t _all_ bad. I can’t imagine you had very many nice things to say about me, not at first.”

She wasn’t belittling herself in the interest of fishing for compliments; she was just being very frank about how things had broken down between them. Mentioning those times was slowly getting easier for her to do without being overwhelmed by melancholy. 

Fitz didn't like the way she'd backed away from him and he followed her automatically, leaning into her space to make up for the distance. 

“It was never like that,” he insisted with a little shake of his head. “I guess I just talked about y’. A lot. T’ the point they could start rattlin’ things off with me.” His smile turned a little rueful as he remembered those days. 

“Jemma, I was angry when we broke up, yes, and hurt and sad. But it was never directed at _you_. I was pissed at S.H.I.E.L.D. and the fact Section 17 ever existed in the first place.”

A soft, slow smile spread over Jemma’s face as she looked back up at him, still turning her glass in place. “That’s good to know,” she said warmly. “Truly.” Then her smile took on a hint of a tease. “In the interest of fairness--I know I said I never went out very much, but when I did, I might have been known to complain about your many virtues once or twice. To my dates. I ended up going home alone more than once.” She bit her lip to keep her smile from widening.

Fitz’ brows shot toward his hairline as he looked at Jemma, his face a mask of exaggerated disbelief. “ _Virtues_? I have virtues?” He nudged Jemma with his elbow. “What virtues are these? My never-ending pile o’ laundry? My sterlin’ nature at 8 a.m.? Or was it my ability t’ eat a pound of pretzels at a time and never gain an ounce?” That last one had annoyed Jemma to no end when they’d been younger, and Fitz had been more than happy to tease her about it. 

He chuckled at the look on Jemma’s face and toyed with his pint glass a bit. “If it makes y’ feel any better, you’re not the only one. I never quite talked about y’, but your name sometimes came up at… inopportune moments.” Fitz gave her a sly glance over the rim of his glass. “And it may or may not be why Michelle acted the way she did when we ran into her at the Hub.” 

“It was all very innocent!” Jemma cried, jumping to her own defense, though she was laughing. “You go on a date, and you’re talking, getting to know each other better, as you do, and the conversation turns to your specific line of work, as it often does, and…” She shrugged expressively and took a sip of her drink. “I would complain about the many shortcomings of my current lab partners, which would invariably lead to me wishing _you_ were still there, which in turn led to me talking in detail about how brilliant you are and how well we worked together, and yes--maybe I mentioned your lovely morning disposition--and the next thing I know, he’s pleading a headache or a sour stomach or his aunt’s just rang suddenly from the ER and he’s asking for the check, and I’m left by myself wondering where it all went wrong.” She shrugged again, looking completely unapologetic. “It took me awhile to realize there was even a pattern.”

But when Fitz mentioned his sour attempt with Michelle, Jemma failed abysmally at containing a smile of utter vindictive glee, though she tried to hide it behind another sip of her drink, draining the glass. She didn’t want to relish in what must have been a mortifying experience for Fitz, but the idea of having once had that much of an influence over him was just too good not to bask in. “Oh dear,” she said, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Oh, I shouldn’t laugh. That must have been horribly embarrassing, I’m sorry.” Her eyes were shining again. “Except...no, I’m really not. She was awful. I can’t believe she bloody _propositioned_ you in the middle of the Hub!” She huffed; the incident still rankled her. “If we had been _anywhere_ else I would have been of a mind to kiss you right there, just to show her what was what.”

Fitz was aware that his pride should have been the least bit wounded by the way Jemma laughed at his predicament, but the truth was he found it just as amusing. Besides, what else could he do when he had so clearly come out with the best of the situation? 

“Y’ really should have,” he added as he waved the bartender over to order two more drinks. “It's not like I would have complained, and the look on Michelle's face would have been priceless. Although, I imagine Coulson would have had somethin’ t’ say about that.”

“Michelle, Coulson, and every other agent within sight,” Jemma replied darkly. “A flagrant violation of Section 17 like that in the middle of the Hub would certainly have caused waves.” Then she paused, and smiled again, thoughtfully. “Though, yes, I imagine it would have been quite worth it, at least in the moment.” She let the idea briefly carry her away, kissing Fitz passionately in the middle of a crowded, open Hub corridor, making sure everyone knew who he belonged to--not that Fitz was an object to be possessed, but he would understand. The visual picture in her mind settled a warmth in her belly, and she twisted to face him even more on her stool, her foot bumping up alongside his calf again.

She looked up as the bartender came back with their new drinks, and thanked him with a nod and a smile, then took a long sip, feeling the alcohol burn as it went down. She had a pleasant light buzz going, and she was having a good time just relaxing and chatting with Fitz just like any normal couple would out on a weekend. It was...refreshing. She wished their lifestyle would give them the chance more often. She needed to cherish this while she had it.

“So,” she said, setting her glass back down, “I propose an experiment.”

The look on Jemma’s face hid nothing. If Fitz were a betting man, he’d put money down on the fact that they were likely thinking along the same lines. He glanced down to where her foot dragged against his calf and allowed his gaze to drag up her legs to the hem of her dress. He was feeling just loose enough that his mind turned to what she might be wearing under her dress, and wondering if that patch of skin at the inside of her knee was as soft as it looked. 

Jemma’s tone - playful, edging on daring that had all of Fitz on alert - called him back to the conversation, though, and he matched her smile with one of his own. “An experiment, hmm? What sort o’ experiment did y’ have in mind?”

“Well.” She smiled, linking her hands together over her crossed knees and tilting her head at him. “As you know, we didn’t really... _date_ , when we were younger. We just sort of fell into a relationship. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added in a rush, when Fitz lifted an eyebrow at her. “What I’m saying is that all of this--” She nodded at the bar around them. “--is kind of a new experience for us. And something Skye said to me while you were away on your mission had me thinking. So, I propose an experiment. More like a scenario, really.” She leaned forward. “You, Leopold Fitz, are at this bar alone, when you catch my eye. We’ve never met. How would you approach me and, how do they say it? Chat me up?” Her smile widened in anticipation, curious of what Fitz might say in response, hoping he’d warm up to the topic.

Jemma’s proposition sent a thrill down Fitz’ spine. It was true that neither of them had had to work to pursue the other; after all, they had each been the only age appropriate option for the other at the Academy, and their interests had neatly aligned. It had felt destined in a way, but they had never had the thrill of the chase, so to speak, either. The opportunity to try that now intrigued him to say the least. 

“All right,” he agreed, picking his beer up off the bar as he stepped off his stool. “But we’re going t’ do this properly. Just… stay there and give me a moment.” 

Fitz flashed her a reassuring smile before weaving his way to the entrance of the bar. He took a deep breath and shook out his arms as he sighted Jemma from across the bar. He tried to pretend he didn’t know a thing about her, that she was just a beautiful woman he was interested in and go from there. He even ran through all of the opening lines his cousins had ever given him, but discarded every last one. She deserved better than that. 

Taking one last deep breath, Fitz forced himself into motion. Fortune favored the bold and all that; he’d just have to think on his feet once he got to her. He slipped up behind Jemma and rested his hand on the back of her seat as he angled himself toward her. 

“He must be an idiot,” he said, drawing a quizzical look from Jemma. “Whoever it is that left a beautiful woman in a bar alone, is clearly an idiot.” 

Jemma’s grin melted into delighted surprise as Fitz stood to leave, and she turned to watch him go. _Oh,_ he was going to go all out. This was thrilling, very unlike anything she’d ever done before. As he reached the door and started to turn back around, she remembered herself and swiveled back to face forward, her hand unconsciously coming up to rest against her neck. _Play it cool. You’re here alone, enjoying a drink after work, perhaps. Maybe waiting to meet up with friends. Be casual._ But her heart was racing excitedly.

As such, she jumped slightly when Fitz reappeared behind her, even though she was expecting him. She had to bite back a smile at his words as she looked up at him. 

“Oh?” she asked politely. “And I suppose you’re not?” She gave him a considering once-over, then decided to be bold. She was an independent woman in this scenario. “What makes you think I can’t handle myself alone?”

Fitz shook his head in response to Jemma’s question about whether or not he was an idiot. That question sounded like a trap if he ever heard one; no way he was going to take the bait. Deciding to keep playing it bold, he raked his eyes over her once more, this time allowing himself to linger on her curves. He nibbled on his bottom lip as he met Jemma’s eyes once more and gave her what he hoped was a charming grin. 

“I have no doubt that y’ could handle yourself. But, that doesn’t mean y’ _want_ t’ handle yourself alone tonight.” Fitz thought he saw Jemma’s eyes widen at his statement and wondered whether or not that had been too much. He was in it now, though, and there was no way he was going to stop playing this game with her. Fitz nodded toward her half-empty drink. “Would y’ like another?”

Jemma felt her cheeks heat up despite herself as Fitz looked her over with undisguised interest, a warmth lighting in her belly. It was unfair that he could look at her like that, looking as good as he did, with his dark slacks and navy blue dress shirt that brought out the brilliance of his eyes, and that cocky tilt to his smile. It made her want to kiss him senseless. But there would be time enough for that soon.

Licking her lips, she forced herself to keep his gaze as she smiled back at him. “That would be lovely,” she said, and nodded at the empty seat next to her, indicating that he should take it. Once he was settled, she angled herself toward him--but not too far, not wanting to give away the whole game just yet. “So what brings you here?” she asked. “Oh--I’m Jemma, by the way.” This time, she couldn’t quite hold back a bright smile, enthused by the pure silliness of their game.

He slid into his seat and nodded to the barkeep before turning his attention back to Jemma. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, somehow making her even more beautiful than she’d been when she first came into the bar. Suddenly Fitz realized why some people spent all their time doing this. It was a natural high, the careful back-and-forth dance of two people who were interested in each other and looking to see just what might happen. 

“I’m Fitz,” he murmured, hoping to draw her closer by keeping his voice pitched low. “I’m just in town for the night. I had some business here in Dublin, and tomorrow I’ll be on my way back home. Yourself? Accent gives away that you’re not a local girl, so…?”

Jemma watched the bartender go. She was nearing her limit before she’d start to edge into getting good and well drunk; she’d have to be careful and not get carried away.

Then she turned her attention back to Fitz. His plan worked; she had to lean in a little to better hear him over the din of the bar crowd, and she found herself enamored by the low warmth of his voice. It was oddly intimate for such a public setting.

“Oh--me?” she asked, blinking at his question. “Oh, I’m--I’m--” As had so recently been demonstrated to her with Sitwell, improvisation was not her forte, and she almost dropped her pretense as she struggled to come up with a suitable answer. But then she relaxed. “No, I’m not from here, obviously,” she said, giving him her best attempt at a beguiling smile. “I’m here on business as well--a conference. Biomedical research.” There. That was safe, well within her wheelhouse, and hopefully impressive to an attractive stranger. But she wasn’t interested in talking about work. “So, Fitz,” she said, trying to stay bold, “tell me, do you often introduce yourself to lonely women in bars?” 

Fitz struggled not to smile as he watched Jemma try to improvise an answer, but it was a close thing. He couldn’t help it. He found the way she scrunched her nose a bit as she tried to come up with a plausible backstory absolutely adorable, and Fitz was faced with the urge to simply lean in and kiss her. He knew that was the alcohol; it had him feeling loose and carefree, and left him liable to do things he normally wouldn’t do. Which, come to think of it, was exactly what one would need when trying to pull a beautiful woman in a bar. 

“No, no I don’t often introduce myself to women in bars.” Fitz leaned in toward Jemma, practically whispering in her ear on the pretense of making sure she heard him. He licked his lips and reached for her, hesitating only a bit as he tried to decide where he wanted to touch her. Fitz settled on her knee, allowing his palm to rest just above the hem of her dress as his thumb arced out to brush over her skin. Fitz watched Jemma’s face, and pleased with her reaction, did it again. “But I thought that tonight, I would make an exception. Y’ were just too stunnin’ t’ pass by.” 

Jemma shivered as he leaned in closer to her, and she desperately wanted to close the rest of the gap between them, to feel his lips on her skin, on her cheek, ear, down her neck. That was probably the alcohol talking, or perhaps just the fact that she’d had to behave herself physically with her boyfriend for weeks, and she wanted more.

His hand on her knee didn’t help matters; a whole host of naughty ideas flitted through her mind, and while she thought that this type of come-on might not work were he an actual stranger, since it was Fitz she found him positively charming. This was a side to him she’d never seen before, and it thrilled her. 

“Well, I’m all the better now for your company,” she said, smiling, and shifted toward him. He moved with her, sending his hand a little higher up her thigh, and a burst of tingles shot through her. Skye had said she was terrible at flirting, and she wanted to prove her wrong, even if she wasn’t there to see it. “So...do--do you have any plans for the evening?”

Fitz kept his eyes on Jemma’s face so he could better judge if she approved of his flirting, and was gratified to see a blush bloom on her cheeks. He had always thought himself terrible at flirting, but perhaps it was that he had been trying with women who weren’t a good match. Skye had been onto something when she said he and Jemma were psychically linked, and Fitz wasn’t above using it to his favor in this situation. 

Meeting Jemma’s gaze, Fitz pulled his hand back toward the hem of her dress. He thought he saw a flash of disappointment there and he couldn’t help his wolfish grin. Fitz had no plans of taking his hands off her, not at all. Instead, he allowed his fingers to slip under the fabric and onto the warm, smooth skin of her thigh. He’d have never been this bold with anyone else, but Jemma had asked him to flirt with her and Fitz was not going to refuse her. He gently ran his fingertips up a couple of inches before bringing them back down to her knee, savoring the expression on Jemma’s face. 

“No definite plans tonight.” Fitz was doing his best to feign nonchalance but he was finding it difficult. He was beyond ready to close their tab and drag Jemma up to their room, but if she wanted to keep up with their experiment he’d be happy to oblige. “Hopefully enjoyin’ your company, if you’ll have me.” 

_Oh, I’ll have you alright_ , Jemma thought, distracted by the way Fitz had run his hand up her thigh again, this time bold enough to go underneath her skirt. His palm was wide and warm, and felt delicious against her skin. Her self control was only as good as her and Fitz’s ability to keep their hands to themselves, and after weeks of having to exercise restraint due to living on the Bus, she was positively aching for him. Touching her like this, talking low, looking at her with interest, was only fanning the flames.

“We could make plans,” she said after a moment, coming to a decision. If this were truly a situation in which she and Fitz had just met, she would likely never be this bold, but she could live vicariously. “If you like. We could enjoy each other’s company somewhere a little more...private. Get to know each other a little better.”

There was no mistaking the look in Jemma's eyes or the tone behind her words. Fitz felt his breathing go shallow as he allowed himself to imagine just what he and Jemma could do in private. He thought of the way she'd feel without clothing between them, the taste of her skin, all the ways he might make her gasp when they were finally alone… 

Fitz slipped his hand around Jemma's leg, his fingers just tickling the underside of her knee. There was something so satisfying about being able to touch her that he couldn't bring himself to stop, even as he thought about propositioning her. And why should he? Really, it only added to the fun. 

“I'd like that, Jemma.” He gave her another slow smile. “I guess the only real question then is, yours or mine?” 

What they would be able to get up to alone, in a real room with a real, proper bed, had been at the forefront of Jemma’s mind ever since Coulson had told them they’d be grounded overnight in the city. She’d been thrumming with anticipation all evening, but now she was practically giddy with it. Her breath hitched as Fitz’s hand slid around her thigh; it was incredibly bold for him, almost sensual, and it very nearly tickled. When she looked up at him, she saw the wanting she felt reflected in his eyes, and her already racing heart began to beat in double time.

“Yours,” she said, her voice breathy. It wasn’t really a question of hers or his, since they were staying in the same room, but he was the one who had the key. It was nice of him to keep up the charade, though. She gave him what she hoped was an enticing smile. “Shall we?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit content warning!

That was all the signal Fitz needed. He took out his wallet and left several notes on the bar without even bothering to look at them. He was probably overpaying the bartender by a criminal amount, but Fitz couldn't bring himself to care. After nearly a month of tempting themselves and toeing the line while on the Bus, he was beyond caring about little niceties like waiting for his change. A man who actually did this all the time might be more suave, but Fitz wasn't capable of that, at least not at the moment. 

He helped Jemma off her stool and guided her to the lifts. Fitz had to remind himself to take his time and not rush; they'd have plenty of time in the room, after all, and rushing would ruin the mood. Still, he couldn't help but tap his toe bit as he waited for the lift to arrive. 

It was thankfully empty, and Fitz wasted no time in pulling Jemma in. He jammed the button for their floor before turning to face Jemma. She was gorgeous, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and just begging to be kissed. Fitz couldn't resist doing just that, pressing against her as he plundered her mouth. 

“Tell me, Jemma,” he panted between kisses, tone teasing, “do y’ often agree t’ go somewhere private with a man y’ just met, or am I the exception t’ the rule?”

Despite the fact that Jemma’s nerves were singing with anticipation and desire, impatient to get Fitz back to their room, and she knew he felt the same, she had thought they’d actually manage to make it there first before their control broke. So it came as a surprise when he kissed her in the elevator, all hands and heat and tongue. She nearly moaned out loud as she clung to his arms; this first taste of him, hard and rushed, was perfect.

“No,” she breathed, exulting in his nearness and the illicit thrill of kissing passionately in what was still technically a public area. “You are definitely the exception.”

She made to kiss him again, but was interrupted by the ping of the elevator bell, followed by the door opening. Taking his hand, she led Fitz quickly down the hall toward their room, her heart dancing in her chest, the blood in her veins already on fire at the promise of what was to come. Once he’d unlocked the door and let them inside, the second the door was closed behind them Jemma turned and pushed him back up against it, framing his face in her hands and kissing him with every ounce of desire she felt, everything she’d been holding back all night--everything she’d been holding back for weeks. Finally, _finally_ they had the chance to be together, and she was going to show him just how much she wanted him.

Jemma Simmons could never be accused of doing things by halves. That was Fitz’ only thought as his back hit the door and he caught Jemma up against him. He was just as eager as she was, nipping at her lower lip as he scrambled to keep up with her. His hands flew to her back, skimming up and down in search of a zipper or any kind of fastener. Unable to find one, Fitz growled in frustration, “Jemma, help me get this off y’.” 

He pressed forward, doing his best to herd her toward the bed without separating. As wild as he felt, as much as he was capable of ravaging Jemma against the door after their prolonged flirtation in the bar, Fitz wanted something a bit more romantic. They had waited this long; he certainly could wait to make it to a bed. 

His will power was being tested though and with every one of Jemma’s sighs and gasps Fitz felt his self control fraying just a bit more. He gave up on searching for a zipper once they were next to the bed, opting instead to just slide his hands fully beneath the skirt of her dress, fingers spread wide as they dragged up her thighs. If he couldn’t find a zip, he’d just settle for pulling it over her head. 

Jemma let him push her toward the bed without letting their movement distract her from the press of their lips; each kiss was hard, deep, inelegant, and only left her wanting even more. When she felt the backs of her legs hit the bed, she let go of Fitz to reach behind her for the zipper of her dress. His hands on her thighs burned like a brand, setting her skin alight and making her wish for his hands all over her, everywhere, all at once.

Once she’d pulled down the zipper, she broke their kiss long enough for them both to pull her dress off over her head, revealing a modest black lace bra and knicker set. ‘Sexy’ hadn’t been high on her priority list when she’d packed for the Bus, but when she’d chosen her dresses to go in her wardrobe, she’d thought it wouldn’t hurt to have something nice to go underneath them. They weren’t anything especially fancy or titillating, but she _felt_ beautiful, and she supposed that was what counted. Hopefully Fitz would think she looked beautiful, too.

Dropping her dress to the floor, Jemma gave Fitz a breathless smile before grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt to pull him back to her, going up on her toes to give him another long, thorough kiss. Then she yanked his shirt out from the waistband of his trousers and started undoing the buttons, one by one.

Fitz’ mind stuttered to a stop as Jemma finally pulled her dress off, unable to process what he was seeing. She was gorgeous, so much so that it took his breath away. Everything about her was perfect - the strands of hair coming out of her chignon, her lips swollen from his kisses, every freckle that dotted her, were all absolutely perfect. Fitz couldn’t decide where he wanted to lay his hands first, but he was certain he would map her entire body before the night was out. 

He had been ready to start with the dip in her waist when Jemma took control, pulling him into a kiss that knocked the last few coherent thoughts clean from his brain. It was all he could do to keep up with her when the feeling of her tugging on his shirt diverted his focus once more. Fitz undid his cuffs before turning to help Jemma with the remaining buttons, his heart practically hammering out of his chest the whole while. 

Fitz shrugged out of his shirt and turned his attention to his belt buckle, keenly aware of Jemma’s eyes on him as he undressed. Her look was pure sin, all heat and hunger and want that left him feeling like he was on the edge of combusting. He sucked in a breath at that, and swallowed heavily in a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of control. Once he had his pants open he reached to cup her face in his hands and pulled Jemma into a kiss that was no less wanting for its leisurely pace. 

Jemma couldn’t recall a time she’d ever felt so feverish, dizzy with desire and need. But as Fitz pulled her into a kiss that was more tame in pace if not passion, she struggled to rein herself in. Instinct had her wanting to push him down on the bed and drive him wild, but she didn’t want this to be fast, over in minutes. If she had her way, they’d be at this all night.

So she let herself sink into his kiss, moaning at the slide of his tongue over hers and the warmth of his hands on her cheeks, and let her own hands roam slowly over his chest and stomach, seeking to relearn the dips and planes there. She kept her touch light, seeking to tease. Once she felt reacquainted, she moved her hands down to the open front of his trousers, and pushed them down over his hips.

“Off,” she mumbled, and leaned up to press kisses along his jaw as she kicked off her flats.

Fitz chuckled, more than a little amused that Jemma had been reduced to single syllable words. Not that he’d complain when a beautiful woman was insisting he get naked with her. His eyes slid shut as Jemma worked her way along his jaw, eliciting a shiver from him as her lips brushed a particularly sensitive spot. Not wanting to fall too far behind, or run the risk of Jemma distracting him further, Fitz hurried to shuck off the rest of his clothes without bothering to worry about doing so with any kind of grace. They were too far beyond that as it were. 

Nearly naked, Fitz reached for Jemma once more, eager to have her as close to him as he possibly could. He marveled at how well she fit against his body, almost as though she were meant to be there. It had the added benefit of allowing him access to more of her skin than had been available to him on the Bus and he moved to take advantage of the situation. Fitz ran his palms from her shoulders down her back to the curve of her arse simply for the pleasure of touching her. 

That wasn’t enough, though, and soon Fitz found himself pressing her backward toward the mattress, his mouth on her neck as he tried to drive her as wild as she made him. A primal part of him wanted to feel Jemma’s body beneath his own and he was more than happy to give in to it. Using his hold on her, Fitz guided Jemma to lay down and carefully settled himself above her. 

Jemma was only too happy to fall back on the mattress, her eyes wide and dark on Fitz as he climbed up after her, but she didn’t stop there. She wanted to feel the weight of him, wanted to feel the touch of skin on skin, wanted to feel him move against her. So she shifted, drawing her knees up along his sides, as she reached out to tug him down into the cradle of her thighs.

The feeling of him hard and hot against her center through the thin barrier of their underwear brought a low moan out of her, and she rocked up into him, desperate to feel more. “Oh, _Fitz_ ,” she breathed as a flush of heat rolled through her, and turned her face into his neck. “Oh god--”

Her arms went around his neck, her hands sliding into his hair, as her legs wrapped around his waist, rolling her hips up into his again. 

He needed to hear her make that sound again, to hear her moan his name like it was the only thing that mattered. Intent on that, Fitz extended a hand above Jemma’s head and pressed into the mattress, hoping to give himself more leverage as he rocked into her. It was good, but not enough for him, and so he slipped his other hand beneath her lower back, holding her in place as he repeated the motion. 

That did it. Pleasure flared through him as he thrust against Jemma, drawing a low groan from him as he dropped his face nearer to hers. Fitz nuzzled against Jemma’s cheek until she turned her face toward him and allowed him to capture her mouth in a heated kiss, his tongue slipping against hers purposefully. 

Fitz groaned, his senses overloaded by Jemma, and ducked his face into the side of her neck. He wasn’t going to last long if they kept this up. With that in mind, Fitz began to lay hot, open-mouth kisses down Jemma’s throat, inching his way toward her breasts. Wanting a clear path, he brought the hand that had been supporting her lower back up to undo the fastening of her bra, leaving the offending article loose around Jemma’s bust. 

Jemma closed her eyes, tipping her head back against the pillow as Fitz’s lips trailed a path down her neck. Her breathing had gone shallow and quick, every part of her focused on where they touched, how they moved together. And god, it was good. Pleasure was building at her core as he continued to thrust against her--she could feel the shape of him and it was driving her _wild_ \--and the lower his mouth drew, the more she ached to feel his tongue on her.

When he undid the clasp of her bra, she let go of him to pull it off and drop it over the side of the bed. Then she pulled him to her for a kiss, gasping into his mouth at the brush of her bare breasts against his chest, which felt better than it had any right to, as hyper-sensitive as she was. After a moment, she none too subtly directed him back to where he’d been before. Maybe she was being selfish, or greedy, but if Fitz was willing to indulge her by playing her body like a harp, she would be more than happy to return the favor.

As his lips closed around her nipple, she let out an embarrassingly loud moan, arching up into him, and knotted her fingers into his hair to keep him in place, encouraging him to do more.

The sounds Jemma made - along with the way she tugged at his curls to direct him - went straight to his groin and only served to motivate him further. Not that he needed it. As far as Fitz was concerned, his entire world had boiled down to Jemma and making her feel as good as he was able. Anything less would be an utter failure in his book. 

He teased her nipple with his tongue before gently suckling at her. Fitz experimented with pressure and speed, watching Jemma to see if he was on the right path as he endeavored to relearn the things she liked best. He alternated between breasts, giving each their due until she was panting and writhing beneath him, clearly in need of something more. Wanting to please her, Fitz slipped a hand between her legs and teasingly ran his fingertips along her center. He could feel that the crotch of her knickers was already damp, and the realization that _he_ had caused that made him groan against her breast. 

Fitz began to purposefully work his fingers against her sex. When it seemed like the teasing was more than Jemma was willing to bear, he moved further down her body, leaving hurried kisses along her stomach as he settled himself between her thighs. He caught Jemma’s eye just as he kissed the patch of skin above the waist of her knickers and held her gaze. 

Curling his fingers around the delicate lace bands over her hips, Fitz gave her a small, almost shy smile. “Jemma, may I…?” He purposefully trailed off, letting her infer his question as he gently tugged at the final barrier between the two of them. 

Jemma couldn’t stop the little moans and cries that worked their way out of her throat as Fitz lavished attention on her, each new kiss, lick, or touch only serving to drive her higher and higher, until she was positively aching for him. It hadn’t taken him long at all to remember how best to tease and please her, and Jemma had never been more thankful that Fitz was a quick study.

She couldn’t _wait_ to get her hands on him.

When he moved to run his fingers over her center, she gasped sharply, arching up against him again; then, as his touch grew more bold, she sighed, moving to swivel her hips in counterpoint to the motion of his fingers, searching out the perfect rhythm and pressure to send her spiraling into ecstasy. She was nearly there, feeling the first faint flutters of her orgasm building, when he abruptly pulled his hand away. She couldn’t hold back a noise of disappointment at the loss, but then Fitz was kissing his way down her stomach, his hands settling on her hips, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Yes,” she said in response to his question, unable to care how needy she sounded. “ _Please._ ”

She watched as he slowly pulled her knickers off, then dropped them to the floor. She felt almost wanton, lying stretched out before him on the bed, naked and desperate--but she was filled with an overwhelming warmth, too. She loved him so, so much; she was so glad that after everything, they were able to be here together like this, to share in each other and express that love and just _be._ She hoped he knew that.

But right now, she was dying to know what he would do with her, now that he had her completely stripped.

Fitz moaned at the sight of Jemma laid bare before him, clearly wanting for his attention. Hearing the obvious need in her voice, he soothed a hand over her side in reassurance as he settled himself on his stomach. Using his mouth on Jemma had been a recurring fantasy of his ever since they'd reignited their romantic relationship, but even all of the scenarios he'd imagined couldn't compare to having her in front of him. 

He leaned forward to kiss Jemma’s inner thighs, to tease her as much as to give himself a chance to get hold of his own need. The little sounds she made, along with the way her hips lifted as she sought his touch, had Fitz grinning against her flesh. It also told him it was time to be done teasing her. Keeping his touch gentle, he ran his fingers through her folds, opening her to him. 

The first swipe of his tongue served much the same purpose, allowing Fitz the opportunity to savor her while giving Jemma a chance to get used to the feeling of his mouth on her. He had loved doing this for her when they were younger, and that hadn't changed with age. Each of Jemma's moans and sighs only served to drive Fitz’ arousal higher. Before long he'd had enough of teasing her, for both of their sakes.

He worked one, then another finger into her and focused his mouth on her clit, intent on pushing Jemma over the edge and feeling her break apart around him.

Jemma let out a soft, keening moan at the first touch of his tongue to her, feeling pleasure roll out from her center in warm waves. She threaded her fingers into his hair, scratching her nails over his scalp, and gently nudged his head into place until it was perfect. 

Fitz had been hesitant the first time he'd done this when they were younger, but he’d quickly become enthusiastic about it, which had surprised her because he was always so squeamish about the more squishy parts of her work. But she hadn't questioned it either, especially when he was not only enthusiastic, but _good_. Ever the scientist, he had loved to experiment with speed, pressure, and friction, discovering the best ways to take her apart with his hands and mouth, and Jemma had never been so grateful to have such an attentive, giving boyfriend.

That still held true. Jemma fought to keep her hips still as Fitz worked her, pleasure pooling in her belly and blooming, spreading through her body and lighting her nerves on fire. She was carding both her hands through his hair now, whispering words of desire and encouragement, wholly focused on the wet heat of his tongue and the way it lapped over her clit.

When Fitz added his fingers, she was lost. They were a pale substitute for actually having him inside her, but he still knew exactly how to use them to his advantage, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries as they grew louder, sharper, pleasure arcing up her spine. She'd been close before, when he was just using his hands without his mouth, but this was overwhelming.

“ _Fitz,”_ she gasped, arching her back as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. “Oh god, _yes_ , that’s--that’s--Fitz--”

Her thighs were trembling, her whole body gone taut with being right on the precipice, and Jemma splayed her fingers wide over the back of Fitz’s head, urging him to work her just a little more--

She cried out as her orgasm crested and then broke, her whole body shuddering as pleasure rolled through her in waves. It was intense, the culmination of weeks of holding back, and she moaned again as sensations turned sweet.

When it became too much, her skin turning oversensitive, Jemma gently pushed at Fitz’s forehead, signaling for him to stop.

Fitz followed Jemma’s silent directions, taking his mouth and hand from her as the last waves of her orgasm subsided. He watched her as she tried to regain control of her breathing, fascinated by the undulations of her body. There was more than a bit of pride there, too; he and Jemma had always been good about working together in the bedroom to ensure they were both satisfied, but Fitz couldn’t remember it ever being that intense before. He had a stray thought that it was a good thing they hadn’t gotten carried away on the Bus before this. There was no way they would have been able to hide it from their teammates. 

The idea made him smile, which he hid by pressing a kiss to Jemma’s thigh. He peppered her hips and stomach with them as he shifted to lay alongside her. Fitz hissed when his erection brushed against her thigh and quickly angled his hips away from her. When he had been focused on Jemma’s pleasure, it had been easy to push his own arousal aside. That was more difficult now, but Fitz was determined to not rush Jemma through her afterglow. There would be plenty of time for him later. 

Propping his head up with one arm, Fitz draped an arm across Jemma’s waist. Unable to stop touching her, his fingers skimmed random patterns over her skin as he smiled down at her, taking in her satiated expression. “You’re bloody gorgeous,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on Jemma’s bare shoulder, “and sexy as hell t’ boot.”

Jemma hummed, her eyes half-closed and lips spread in a lazy, satisfied smile. She felt boneless, her limbs heavy, the heat her pleasure had produced softening to a warmth that made her feel like she was floating away on bliss. It was only the press of his body against her side that kept her anchored to reality.

“ _You_ are talented,” she murmured, cheeks flushing at his praise, and rolled her head to blink her eyes open wider and look up at him. “And so, so good.”

She picked up his hand that he had resting on her stomach and splayed it out in front of her, before bringing it forward to kiss each of his fingertips. She went slowly, making sure each kiss was deliberate and soft with the barest hint of a teasing suckle. She could taste herself on him, and that only made her want him more. A shiver ran through her, either an aftershock of her orgasm or the need to make him moan.

When she was done, she placed a single, open-mouthed kiss to the center of his palm, then looked back up at him from beneath her lashes. 

“What would you like?” she whispered. 

There were several things she could do, and wanted to do, but she wasn't sure how he wanted to finish. This go around, at least. 

Fitz whimpered as he watched Jemma kiss her way along his fingertips, his mind automatically jumping to just how she’d look - and how it would feel - if she were to do the same to his cock. The image she presented was doubly titillating thanks to where his hand had been and Fitz rocked his hips forward, seeking any bit of friction he could.

So much for not rushing things. 

As tempted as he was to ask Jemma to suck him off, that wasn’t what he wanted for them. Fitz wanted to feel Jemma around him, wanted to lose himself in her the way he so nearly had back in his bunk. The image of Jemma perched above him, breasts swaying but just out of sight decided him. 

With far less grace than he’d hoped for, Fitz flopped onto his back and reached to tug Jemma over him. He settled her over him, lining his straining erection up with her center. He could feel the heat radiating off her through the thin material of his boxers, drawing a sharp gasp from Fitz even as he bracketed her hips with his hands. Catching her eye, he dug his heels into the mattress and ground up into Jemma, pulling her along his length for emphasis. 

“I want y’ on top.” 

Jemma closed her eyes, her mouth dropping open on a low moan as Fitz ground up into her, and she met him with a roll of her own hips. He may have gotten her off already, but she still ached for him, wanted to feel him inside her.

“God yes,” she gasped, her breath hitching as he ground against her just so. The idea of Fitz's hands clenching into her hips, his face transformed by pleasure as she rode him into oblivion was almost too hot to bear. Jemma leaned down on her arms to kiss him, long and slow and deep as she kept up the movement of their hips, running her fingers through his hair like she loved to do, enjoying the sounds Fitz made in the back of his throat. When she felt like she'd teased them both enough, she broke the kiss.

“Condom,” she whispered, and reluctantly pulled away. But not _too_ reluctantly. Because a wicked, almost eager smile lit up her face as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and off, and it stayed as she stood and walked to his bag to fetch the condoms from where she knew he'd hidden them away. When she returned to the bed, foil packet in hand, she gave him a very appreciative once-over, her eyes lingering on his straining erection, now out on full display.

She sighed as she wrapped her hand around him, a thrill of pleasure running through her at the feeling of him, hard and hot yet still soft to the touch, and gave him a single smooth stroke before moving to roll the condom on. Then she crawled up over him to give him another thorough, heated kiss, trying to communicate how much she loved and wanted him. 

“I love you,” she whispered, then sat up. Keeping her eyes on his, she took him in hand again and guided him to her entrance, then sank down onto him.

She gasped as she adjusted to him; it had been quite some time since she'd had sex, and she wasn't used to his size. But then her hips met his and she moaned quietly at the feeling of him fully inside her. He filled her perfectly. Sighing in pleasure, she ran her hands up Fitz's chest, wanting to take in his reactions.

“Love y’, too,” Fitz managed to murmur just before she ran her nails across his nipples and effectively banished any civilized impulse from his being. 

Fitz couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jemma’s face as she sank onto him, her pleasure written plain for him to see. The fact that he was the one privileged to see her like this wasn’t lost on Fitz, nor was the fact that he was the cause of it. He was sure that his face mirrored her expression, lost in the thrill of being together this way, of feeling Jemma hot and snug around him. 

It drove him a bit mad, triggering a rush of pure love and affection for Jemma that was darkly tinged with possessiveness. _His_. She was his, and Fitz wanted to make sure they both knew it. Hands landing on Jemma’s hips, he dug his fingers in and began to guide her along his length. There was a part of him that wanted to take things slowly; the fact that this was a chance to relish a new beginning wasn’t lost on Fitz after all. But after pushing his own arousal to the side, he couldn’t help but feel a bit wild. 

Giving up the idea of soft and slow for later, Fitz thrust up into Jemma in earnest, meeting her as she rolled her hips downward. The feeling of him hilting deeply inside her drew moans from them both, and Fitz tightened his grip on Jemma, holding her in place so he could grind against her before encouraging her to lift off him again. Certain she knew exactly what he wanted and that they could maintain their rhythm, Fitz released one of her hips to reach up and tease Jemma’s nipples once more. His other hand slid around so his thumb could rub circles around her clit in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he could get her to come again. 

That drew a long, shuddery moan from Jemma and a fluttering of her inner muscles to match. It only served to ratchet his need higher as he felt the faint beginnings of his orgasm. 

“That’s it, Jemma,” he encouraged, panting as he watched her face. “Let me hear y’, baby girl, please.”

Jemma was lost again, nearly overwhelmed with pleasure. Fitz’s hands gripping her hips, hard enough to bruise--she _loved_ that, secretly loved it when he took control--combined with the feeling of his cock, hitting that perfect spot within her on every thrust, had her rapidly spiraling out of control. Maybe it was just the circumstances of finally being together, but she couldn't remember it being this _good_ , or rarely so heated or passionate.

She moaned again as his thumb slid over her clit just so, sending a sharp burst of pleasure skittering out in sparks along her nerves. She wanted to give him everything he desired, anything at all, so when he asked to hear her, a thrill ran down her spine.

“Oh, _Fitz,_ ” she moaned as she continued to ride him, arching her back into his hands, “you--oh god, you--you feel so _good--yes--_ just--I’m--” She moaned again, longer, as she shifted slightly and changed the angle, causing him to bottom out inside her on every stroke. “God--I’m so close, Fitz, just--a little more--harder-- _please--”_

She could feel herself rapidly approaching another orgasm and desperately wanted to take him with her, wanted that perfect moment of combined ecstasy. She splayed her hands over his ribs, digging her nails in, and swiveled her hips just a little harder, clenching around him on each twist in a way she remembered used to make him groan.

Groan he did, eyes slamming shut in a desperate bid to keep himself from falling over the edge. Jemma was close, so close, and he could feel her squeezing him on each stroke. Thankfully the bite of her nails kept him centered, the welcome sting giving Fitz the focus he needed to hold off just for a few moments more. 

Fitz redoubled his efforts on Jemma’s clit, keeping his thumb moving in tight circles over the tiny nub even as he dug his heels in and thrust up as hard as he could. He watched as the tell-tale flush spread over Jemma’s neck and chest, her moans growing more breathless with each meeting of their hips. One last strong thrust was all it took and he felt Jemma breaking apart around him, shaking in his arms.

Needing her closer, Fitz caught her by the back of the neck and pulled her down for a kiss just as he found his own release, his body arching up into hers as he spilled into her. He was beyond kissing her with any sort of finesse; rather it was a clash of lips and tongue, the roughness of it fitting for how out of control Fitz felt in the moment. The aftershocks of her orgasm prolonged his own, leaving him moaning against Jemma’s lips as they both came down. 

Fitz sank back into the mattress and encouraged Jemma to relax atop him. Her slight weight was comforting, and he ran his hands over her back and sides as he came back to himself, his mind drifting pleasantly. Eventually his hands found their way back into her hair, further destroying her already ruined updo as he directed Jemma’s mouth to his once more. Fitz was able to kiss her properly now and did just that.

“That was-” Fitz huffed out a breath and laughed, unable find the words to express how purely happy he was. “Just, wow.” 

Fitz’s hands roaming over her back and his slow, unhurried kisses were soothing, an infinitely wonderful contrast to the heated, almost frantic sex they'd just had. Jemma let herself fall into it, luxuriating in the slide of their lips and tongues, and allowed it to ease her down into a blissfully happy, contented afterglow--this one made better by having Fitz also share in it.

Her mouth stretched into a wide smile at seeing Fitz so happy, and she batted her nose against his. “I think you mean incredible,” she murmured, and gave him another brief, soft kiss. “Very much worth the wait.”

She felt like she could stay there forever, snugged up against him and wrapped up in his arms, trading kisses, but other things would make themselves known eventually. Planting her hands into the mattress, she separated from him with a sigh, then rolled to the side with shaky legs. They felt like rubber.

“Go get cleaned up,” she whispered, leaning in to press a hand to his chest and give him one more kiss. “I'll be right here.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Jemma was right. That didn’t stop him from stealing yet another kiss though before he forced himself off the mattress and onto shaky legs. Fitz felt Jemma’s eyes on him and tried not to feel too self conscious. Despite whatever concerns he might have had about his body, it certainly hadn’t slowed him or Jemma down any, a fact that was reinforced when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. 

There were several small, thin lines decorating his ribs, just where Jemma had steadied herself against his chest. Just seeing them made Fitz grin. He’d never had someone mark him like that during sex before, and he was doubly pleased that it had been Jemma. 

Fitz made quick work of the spent condom, leaving it in the bin and cleaning himself off before returning to Jemma. She had slipped under the covers while he was gone and Fitz gladly joined her, pulling her back into his side as soon as he was able. 

“Have I told y’ yet that I love you?” Fitz brushed a few strands of her hair out of her face as he gazed at her, the very picture of a lovestruck man. 

If Fitz was lovestruck, then Jemma was absolutely besotted. She'd watched him come out of the bathroom with a smile, taking the opportunity to admire every long, lean line of him, and had eagerly curled up next to him once he'd joined her beneath the covers. Now she was looking up at him with shining eyes, her face tilted into the hand he had curled at her ear.

“You may have mentioned it,” she replied warmly, “once or twice. But it never hurts to hear it again.” She smoothed a hand up his chest to rest over his heart. “And I love you, too. So much.”

She leaned up to kiss him again, pouring all of the love she felt into it, her heart feeling near full to bursting with a quiet joy. She ghosted her lips over his one, two, three more times with the faintest brush of her tongue against his lower lip before she pulled away with a sigh, and then her expression turned sheepish.

“I rather hope we don't have neighbors,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing a dull pink. “Or, at the very least, I’m glad we don't have _Skye_ for a neighbor. I, um...I believe I was a bit...loud.” She ducked her face against his neck with a self-conscious giggle.

Fitz giggled right along with her as he began to card his fingers through Jemma’s hair. They hadn’t exactly been discreet, no, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d enjoyed hearing all the sounds he could coax from Jemma far too much to actually feel apologetic for any unrest they might have caused the neighbors. Besides, they could always use their pillows to cover their ears. 

“They’ll get over it,” Fitz insisted, eyes skating over Jemma’s face. “It was _hot_.”

Despite the rather vigorous sex they’d just had, the memory of hearing Jemma moan, begging him to take her as hard as he could, had begun to stir Fitz’ interest once more. He wasn’t sure where the impulse had come from to ask her to speak to him like that, but he was glad he’d had it. Fitz certainly had it filed away to use at a later date. 

“So, does this mean our flirtin’ experiment was a success?”

Fitz asked the question with an exaggerated brow wiggle, knowing damn well that it had been, but he wanted to try to distract Jemma from her embarrassment, no matter how slight it was. 

_Hot_ , indeed. Jemma hadn't expected Fitz asking to hear her to affect her the way it had; his voice had been low and rough, and it had made her stomach twist with need and surprise. She'd wanted nothing more than to do exactly as he asked. 

She laughed at his question and the waggle of his brow. He could be irresistibly charming, when he wanted to be. “Oh, I'd say so,” she replied, as if it were obvious, arching an eyebrow back at him and running a finger down the center of his chest. “I can't believe we never thought to do anything like that before. It was a bit thrilling, wasn't it?” They'd definitely ventured out of their comfort zone. She bit her lip, batting her eyelashes and trying to bring back one of the flirty looks she'd tried on him at the bar. “And it had such... _nice_ results.””

Fitz’ gaze caught on the way Jemma nibbled at her lip, and he brought his hand up so he could brush his thumb along it. How was it that everything she did made him want to kiss her? Had he been this bad at 18? He didn’t think so, but then again he hadn’t really known what they’d had together until he lost it. Maybe it was just that age and distance had helped him wise up to appreciating a good thing when he had it. 

“Only ‘nice,’ huh?” Fitz gave her an exaggerated pout and leaned in, stopping with his mouth centimeters from Jemma’s. “Maybe we should try again, see if I can get higher marks than that.”

It should have been embarrassing, the way her breath audibly caught when Fitz stopped just short of kissing her, but she couldn't be, because he was looking at her like _that_ and delivering a challenge. And Fitz so did love a challenge.

“Oh,” she whispered, eyes wide, her voice high and breathy, and maybe that should have been embarrassing too, but it wasn't. “Well.” She swallowed. “I _do_ know you...and I know you can't stand to have anything less than top marks. So.” She splayed her hand wide against his chest without taking her eyes off his. “If you think your performance needs improvement…”

This was ridiculous. It should have been, anyway. But she couldn't bring herself to care.

Chuckling at the expression on Jemma’s face, Fitz urged her onto her back and proceeded to kiss her senseless. She gave as good as she got and before long they each had their hands in places that were far less innocent, but decidedly more interesting, as they urged each other on.


	11. Chapter 11

They spent the night like that, taking turns lavishing attention that was long overdue on each other. Fitz dedicated himself to counting every freckle that covered Jemma’s body, while she took her time rediscovering the best ways to make him speechless. The little bit of sleep they got came in short bursts, and only lasted as long as it took one of them to think of another way to rouse the other. Jemma even tugged Fitz into the shower with her come morning, where they spent more time testing the room’s acoustics than actually scrubbing themselves clean. 

When all was said and done, they had blown through most of the condoms they had bought, there was more bedding on the floor than the mattress itself, and Fitz felt as though he’d run a marathon. Even so, the pleased siren smile Jemma wore was more than enough to make him forget the slight ache in his muscles. 

With their bags packed and ready to go in a corner, Fitz took hold of Jemma’s hand and tugged her down the hall to the elevators, albeit at a much more leisurely pace than he had the night before, intent on getting breakfast before they had to get back on the Bus. 

Jemma was more than a little tired, but her time spent with Fitz had definitely been worth it, and it wasn't anything a strong cup of tea and a little concealer couldn't fix. She smiled up at Fitz as they got on the elevator, feeling content and refreshed in a way she didn't think she'd been in a long time.

Skye was at the buffet when they walked in, drizzling syrup over a stack of waffles. Her eyes lit up when she saw them, but her expression almost immediately slid into something more knowing.

“Well good morning, you two,” she said brightly, giving the both of them a very exaggerated look over. “Simmons, your walk is looking particularly, ah, smooth today, and Fitz...you’re _smiling_. Have a good night?”

Jemma narrowed her eyes, then led Fitz past Skye to fetch some mugs for tea.

“Oh, come on, guys,” Skye said, setting her plate down on a table and following them. “Don't act like I don't know what you were doing last night. A room to yourselves, with a real bed, and none of the rest of us around? Please.”

Jemma poured out tea for both her and Fitz, adding milk and sugar, while Fitz piled a few doughnuts onto a plate.

“The sexual tension between you guys has been off the charts lately,” Skye continued. “Seriously. You could cut through it with a knife. Even Ward’s noticed. It’s gross.” When neither of them answered, simply took their food over to the table and set it down, Skye followed, undeterred. “So did you get it out of your systems? Or are we going to have to buy earplugs--”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Skye! Yes, we had sex! Bloody fantastic sex! Will you leave it alone, now?” Jemma cried, just as Fitz grumbled, “If it's so disgustin', why do y' keep askin' about it?"

Fitz smirked at the stunned look on Skye’s face, pleased that she had finally stopped pestering them about the state of their personal relationship, until his brain caught up to what, exactly, Jemma had said. Well, shouted, really, to a room full of strangers. 

_Bloody fantastic sex_. 

The intensely private side of Fitz wanted to crawl under the table and hide, hating the idea that Skye - and maybe a few people around them - were looking at him and Jemma and evaluating how true her statement could be. But that couldn’t override the fact that he knew exactly what had transpired last night (and had the sore muscles, scratches, and love bites to prove it), and that he had every reason to be pleased with his performance. After all, Jemma clearly seemed to be, and hers was the only opinion that mattered. 

Skye had recovered from the shock of hearing Jemma’s outburst and had begun to laugh in earnest, her arms folded against her middle as she shook slightly. Any other morning Fitz would have been offended, but he was in too good a mood to care. 

“Well, that settles it then, huh? Now I know why the man two doors down was complaining to the front desk this morning.” She gave them a sly look, although if Fitz had to judge he would say she was genuinely happy for them, which went a long way to taking any sting out of her teasing. “Eat up, you two. You’re going to need it to recover.” 

Normally Jemma would have been reticent as well, but she refused to be ashamed now, lifting her chin primly as she took a sip of tea. Then she tucked into her eggs, quietly encouraging Fitz to do the same after he finished his doughnuts. Skye may have been teasing, but she was right--and they needed the protein.

Once they were all engrossed in their food, Jemma let her hand rest on Fitz’s knee underneath the table. This was the last opportunity she would get to be as openly affectionate with him in public as she could be before they returned to the Bus, and she wasn't going to let it go to waste. 

After everyone had finished eating, they went back to their rooms to gather their bags before checking out of the hotel and traveling back to the Bus. Skye and Coulson kept up a steady stream.of chatter on the details of a mission brief he'd received that morning before breakfast. Jemma kept her hand tucked into Fitz’s, watching the scenery roll past the window outside as they drove.

Back on the Bus, once she'd stowed her things back in her bunk, she went by Fitz's, where he was putting away the last of his. “Back to business then, yeah?” she said quietly, leaning against the open door.

Fitz quietly shut the door of his wardrobe and looked at Jemma. He imagined she was going through exactly what he was: still riding the high of being together but struggling with how to manage that back on the Bus. That was the problem with living where they worked. The boundary between professionals would blur no matter how hard they tried to prevent it. It already had, with Jemma sharing Fitz’ bed most nights. 

Sneaking a look out his door and seeing no one was nearby, Fitz cupped Jemma’s face in his hands and gave her a sweet kiss. “Hopefully not just back t’ business,” he answered. He wasn’t expecting the two of them to set about christening every room of the Bus (May would kill them long before Coulson could if they ever tried), but he would certainly be sticking closer to Jemma, even more so than he had before. 

Fitz opened his mouth, ready to tell her just that, when they were interrupted by Skye’s shout of, “Fitz!” and a thump on their shared wall. He could hear her laughing, though, and began sniggering himself. Catching Jemma’s perplexed look, Fitz calmed himself enough to explain, although he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. 

“Well, she asked if she needed earplugs. So, I might have gone t’ the gift shop and gotten her a few.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma murmured, chuckling, and reached out to squeeze his arm. 

It did go back to business as usual, at least as far as their work was concerned, but Fitz didn't have anything to worry about as far as their personal lives went. Something subtle had shifted in their relationship that night in Dublin, for the better. It felt like they had drawn closer, settled into a deeper, more comfortable understanding of each other. Jemma wasn't afraid to give Fitz the occasional soft touch as they worked in the lab: a brush of fingers on his shoulder as she passed him by, a hand at the base of his back as they stood together at the holotable or workbench, even the occasional kiss on the cheek when no one else was looking. Things weren't the same as they had been before when they were younger, but Jemma felt like their relationship had the potential to be even better.

Things were going well until Raina, the woman in the flower dress, came back into their lives. The horrific loss of Mike Peterson and the abduction of Coulson left the team reeling. Determined to get their boss and friend back, they focused on doing everything they could to find him and get him back. Skye especially was feeling his loss; Jemma knew it was because she viewed him as sort of a father figure, the dad she'd never had.

But Fitz was working on Coulson’s case in a manner that almost concerned Jemma. He was laser focused, driving himself to exhaustion, and it seemed like it didn't matter to him what resources he used or who got in his way--he was taking him down. She had never seen him act like that before. It troubled her, and she didn't know how to bring it up with him without sounding like she was accusing him of being ruthless.

One night, as they lay curled up together in Fitz’s bunk, Jemma tracing aimless shapes over his chest, she finally decided to brave it. 

“You're so tense,” she murmured, running her hand up to squeeze his shoulder. “I wish you could relax a little bit.”

Fitz wasn't oblivious to the fact that his behavior was impacting Jemma. The problem was that he struggled to rein himself in. Coulson’s kidnapping had unsettled him deeply. Watching the exchange on the bridge, seeing the explosion after, had shook him. It had been a wake up call that they were all vulnerable. Any of them could be taken at any time.

He'd already had more than one nightmare about Jemma being taken. 

Just thinking about it left Fitz chilled, and he automatically pulled Jemma closer in response to press a kiss to her forehead. The way he was acting wasn't fair to her. He knew that and resolved to be better. 

“I do, too. But that won't happen until we get Coulson back and I can up the security protocols.”

Jemma sighed quietly at the bloom of his lips against her forehead, and wrapped her arm around his middle. “But you've done all you can for today. I know you're worried--we all are--but you can only do so much. You deserve some time to recharge.” She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I’m...I’m worried you're pushing yourself too hard.”

Fitz heard the concern in Jemma's voice and his heart ached knowing he'd caused that. Bringing a finger under her chin, he tilted her face upward so they could better see each other. 

“I know, Jemma. And I'm sorry for worryin’ you. But-” Fitz sighed, uncertain if he should say what was on his mind at all, but too far gone to keep it to himself. “All I keep imaginin’ is what if it had been _you_ that was taken? That scares the hell out o’ me. That's why. I just want t’ know I've done all I can t’ protect y’, as little as that may be.”

Jemma’s heart melted a little, despite her worry. “Oh, Fitz,” she murmured, squeezing her arm tighter around her. “I...I know that if something ever happened to me, you would do everything in your power to make sure I was brought back safely. I _know_ that. But...I would want to know that you were taking care of yourself, too. If anything happened to _you_ as a result of me being taken, if you neglected your own basic needs, I...I don't know if I could bear it.”

She looked up at him, eyes pleading, hoping he understood what she was trying to say.

Fitz understood exactly what she was saying because he felt the exact same way. That didn't mean it made it any easier to swallow. His stubborn Scottish nature made it even more difficult, but for Jemma he'd be willing to try. 

“No promises, Jemma.” He brushed her hair back, soothing himself just by touching her. “But I'll try. All right?”

“That's all I ask,” she said, and leaned up to press a lingering kiss to his jaw. It didn't completely allay her worries the way a firm promise might have, but she would rather Fitz be honest with her than make promises he couldn't keep. “Just try to rest now. And then we’ll get back to work in the morning, and we'll have Coulson back in no time. You'll see.”

If only it had been as easy as that. 

They spent two more tense days of dodging round Victoria Hand and her men, doing their best to assist Skye after she’d been kicked off the Bus without being court martialed. It was a move that paid off. She was able to find where they’d taken Coulson and the sat phone Fitz had modified worked exactly as planned. Granted, it had also meant following Skye into certain danger, complete with a dozen Centipede soldiers hunting them, but Fitz had learned to accept that as being par for the course. 

The bottom line was that they made it out with Coulson, and none of them with anything worse than a few abrasions. It had seemed like an incredible stroke of luck, and Fitz found himself breathing easier. The Centipede threat wasn’t gone, but Coulson was back. With his leadership, it was easy to believe everything would turn out all right, even in the most dangerous of circumstances. 

Fitz was feeling so relaxed that he found himself looking forward to visiting the Academy. The pool freezing, dangerous as it had been, sounded like a simple matter of a prank gone wrong. He and Jemma could handle that easily. A simple lecture, maybe speak to some students one-on-one, visit with their old professors - it almost sounded like a vacation. And, if everything went well, maybe he and Jemma would have a chance to sneak off and visit a few more places on campus. Relive some other memories they’d made long ago. 

That hope buoyed Fitz all the way up until their lecture, when Donnie Gill did his best impression of a human popsicle. He and Jemma had managed to save him, but seeing their work used that way left Fitz reeling emotionally. He had never wanted his work used for such purposes, and it left him resolved to find whoever had misappropriated it, no matter where that path led.

While Fitz went to go try to talk to Donnie Gill alone, Jemma went with Skye and Ward to the Boiler Room, a popular SciTech cadet hangout, to try putting their ears to the ground to see if they could learn anything that way. While Ward struck up a game of pool with some cadets who had been present at their lecture earlier that day, Jemma and Skye decided to get something to drink and let him do his work. 

While they made their way to a table off to one side of the billiards tables, however, they bumped into someone Jemma recognized: an Ops instructor she'd known during her year spent teaching at the Academy, and whom she'd briefly dated. Skye watched with wide, curious eyes as Jemma introduced her, then made slightly awkward small talk. He'd been one of the ones she'd put off by talking too much about Fitz. She considered it a small mercy that Fitz himself wasn't there to witness their meeting.

After they went their separate ways, Skye gave Jemma an incredulous look as they claimed a small table off to the side of the billiards area and laughed. “Wow! Simmons, that guy was smoking hot! You dated him? He's nothing like Fitz!” At Jemma’s mildly affronted look, she rushed to add, “Not that there's anything wrong with Fitz. I'm just saying--he's pretty different from that guy, uh, physically. He's built like a real Ops agent, right?”

Jemma considered it for a moment. “I suppose Fitz is the exception to my rule, yes,” she said, thinking back on her dating history and the men she'd typically favored. Then she frowned. “Or, perhaps...Fitz is actually my rule, and the others were aberrations.”

Skye tilted her head, reflecting her frown back at her. “What? What do you mean?”

Jemma took a sip of her beer, smiling slightly. “Fitz and I have a long history. This isn't the first time we've been together.”

Skye blinked. “ _What?_ You mean you guys didn't meet for the first time on the Bus?”

She shook her head, her smile widening. “No. We've known each other for nearly ten years now, since we both attended the Academy together. But getting assigned to the Bus was the first time we'd seen each other in quite some time.”

“Really?” Skye asked. “So you dated before but you hadn’t seen him in awhile, soooo…” She trailed off, raising her eyebrow with a wince in a silent question.

Jemma looked down. “No, it didn't end well.”

“What happened?” Skye’s voice was softer.

“I know Ward’s had you read the S.H.I.E.L.D. handbook,” Jemma said. “Do you recall anything about Section 17?”

Skye pursed her lips. “I think so. Maybe? I know he mentioned it after he realized you guys were _together_ together and he got all uppity about it. Something about agents who work together can't bang.”

Jemma laughed softly. “That would be it, yes.”

“Did you guys get reported?”

She waved a hand. “No...the rule was always more of a guideline than something strictly observed, but...we were young, and I got scared, and it just...things fell apart.” She shrugged. “Seeing him on the Bus was a shock.”

Skye sat back in her seat. “Well, that explains a lot of things. Like the way you guys were eye fucking all the time.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped. “Skye! We were not!”

She laughed. “No, you really were. You were kinda tip-toeing around each other at first, which was weird, but as soon as one of you would turn away, my god, the _looks._ I'm surprised I didn't get pregnant.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but smile a little despite Skye’s irreverence. “That’s...interesting, I'll admit. I know we had a good working relationship, but honestly I thought he was just being civil for the sake of the work. I thought he hated me.”

“But then you got infected,” Skye said.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “That did change everything.”

Skye clicked her tongue. “Aww. That's so sweet. I mean--I really do hate that you had to go through that. But the whole realizing your true feelings for each other thing? Totally romantic.” When Jemma smiled, conceding her point, Skye leaned forward with a smirk. “And I know I tease you about it a lot, but I really do gotta ask, as friends, just between us girls...on a scale from one to ten, how good is Fitz in the sack?”

Jemma’s immediate instinct was to refuse to answer, wanting to guard their privacy, but then she reconsidered. Skye was a good friend by now, and it wouldn't hurt to confide in her on something personal just once. Besides, it was sort of a point of pride, too.

Leaning forward too, Jemma smiled. “An eleven,” she said firmly.

Skye's eyebrows shot up. “Really?!”

Jemma nodded. It was her turn to smirk. “Yes.”

Skye laughed. “Hah. Oh, wow. I'm almost sorry I asked, but--wow. I'll never be able to look at him the same now. It’s always the nerdy and quiet ones!”

Before Jemma could protest that that was a negative stereotype, she felt her mobile buzz in her pocket. Taking it out, she smiled when she saw that it was Fitz. “Speaking of which,” she said as she swiped to answer it. “Hello?”

“Jemma, please don’t tell me you’ve left the Boiler Room already.” Fitz sighed in relief when Jemma told them they hadn’t and picked up his pace. He wanted a chance to see their old haunt and relax while he filled them in on what had happened with Donnie. “I have some things t’ tell y’ about Donnie. He’s a lonely kid, but brilliant. We had a nice little hang session. I actually helped him solve his power problem...” 

The pieces began to click into place. The fuel cell Donnie had shown him was powerful, far more so than anything Fitz had seen in his room. His mind raced over why a cadet would need that kind of capacity, and all of the answers left him feeling ill. He quickly turned and began jogging back toward Donnie’s dorm. 

“Jemma, I need t’ go back. Get Skye and Ward and meet me there. He’s in Carter 224. Hurry!”

Without waiting to hear her response Fitz ended their connection and took off. He had to get to Donnie. He was meddling with something dangerous, and with him not having someone to talk to, he likely didn’t even realize it yet. Fitz saw so much of himself in Donnie - a young kid, too bright for his own good, too curious to realize what he was doing could hurt himself or someone else. Fitz had at least had Jemma to rein him in; poor Donnie had no one. 

He arrived, out of breath and looking a bit worse for wear, and burst into Donnie’s room. The sight that met him froze Fitz’ blood. There was a larger version of the Ice Machine sitting on his workbench and he was clearly putting the finishing touches on the newly revamped power source. 

“That’s what you’re tryin’ t’ power,” Fitz gasped out, taking a few cautious steps toward Donnie, “a bigger version o’ the ice machine?” He knew Donnie was trying to protest, but his concern for the boy - and the other cadets in the dormitory - meant Fitz wasn’t paying much attention. “This is very, very dangerous, okay? You can’t have this here. We have t’ turn it in t’ Agent Weaver.”

Donnie merely gaped at him, his eyes flickering from Fitz’ face to something over his shoulder. He whirled about without thinking much of it, only to be confronted by another cadet who had Donnie’s air cannon leveled at him. Before Fitz knew it, he was flying backwards into the dresser. His head struck with a sickening crunch, and then it all went hazy. 

Fitz was roused later - although he couldn’t say how much time had passed - and found Jemma, Skye, and Ward hovering around him. The worry on Jemma’s face made him feel the slightest bit guilty. He should have waited for the team, but he’d thought he could handle the situation. Now he was paying the price. He accepted Jemma’s cursory evaluation and the ice pack she handed him, but brushed off anything further. There was work to be done to clean up Fitz’ mistake, and he wanted to be sure he was the one that made up for it. 

In the end they were able to trace the path the boys had gone down, thanks to a team effort to trace the components in the device. Ian Quinn was behind it, clearly up to his old tricks. And as always, he didn’t care who got hurt in the process. He had asked the cadets to give him a demonstration and they had, creating a storm that had nearly leveled the SciTech campus. That had been the only way they could trace them, following them into the eye of the storm. 

Coulson had approved Fitz’ suggestion to fly them into the center of the storm, but it proved to be too little too late. By the time they had arrived, the machine had failed catastrophically - and claimed Seth Dormer as a victim. 

The entire experience had left Fitz feeling more than a little hollow. They had all done their best, but his mistake had cost a cadet his life, and had left another trying to pick up the pieces. It was all too easy for Fitz to imagine younger versions of himself and Jemma in that position and he found he needed to be away from the team for a little while. He hid in the lab, huddled behind a lab bench with his knees pulled up as he went over the events of the day again and again. 

Jemma was the one to come find him, and all he could do was look up at her with red-rimmed eyes and ask, “How could I have been so bloody stupid?” 

Jemma’s heart went out to him, wishing she could take away his guilt and pain, but knowing she couldn't--he had always been very hard and unforgiving on himself. She knew he would carry this with him for a long time. Still, she would try to provide what comfort and reassurance she could.

“Fitz,” she murmured, kneeling down to place a hand on his knee, “It's not your fault. Donnie is brilliant. I think he would have figured it out eventually. It's just a good thing you were here to keep it from being worse than it could have been.” She stroked her thumb back and forth over his knee. “You can't take the blame for this. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Fitz had no doubt that Jemma believed what she was saying, but he was struggling to accept it at the moment. If he hadn't been so distracted by the prospect of being back at the Academy, maybe he'd have been quicker to understand what Donnie had been trying to do. If he'd actually been a field agent, he definitely would have. 

“Maybe not,” he conceded as he covered Jemma’s hand with his own. The point of contact was nice, and made him feel a bit more himself. Fitz did what he could to lace their fingers together, easing his digits into the spaces between her own, and did his best to give Jemma a smile. “Y’ know, when I agreed t’ come into the field, I never thought about the moments like this. I thought about seein’ the world and helpin’ people. Never thought that my choices might get someone killed.”

Jemma looked down, unsure what to say. She squeezed her fingers around his. “Seth and Donnie made the choice to get involved with Ian Quinn long before you ever became involved. I'm not saying that Seth deserved to die, but more that...they were already in so deep. Nothing you did would have changed any of that.” She squeezed his hand again. “I know the choices we make out in the field have the chance to affect things or people drastically at a moment’s notice, but...you didn't do this, Fitz. You aren't responsible, and you shouldn't have to carry that weight. I truly believe that.” She gave him a smile, ducking her head to try and meet his eyes. “If anything, we should blame Quinn for taking advantage of them.”.

Fitz had never been more thankful that Jemma had a glass face. If there was any part of her that had believed he was liable it would have shown, but there was nothing like that in her eyes. He managed to give her a genuine smile and brought their joined hands to his lips so he could press a kiss to Jemma’s knuckles. 

“You’re right, Jemma. We’ll just have t’ get him next time.”


	12. Chapter 12

Fortunately for Fitz’ conscience he didn’t have to wait long for the team’s next opportunity. With Quinn revealing his connection to the Clairvoyant, Coulson was only too happy to exploit that. They had intel that tied Cybertek to technology that was eerily similar to both the eye that had been implanted in Akela Amador, so when they caught wind that they were shipping a package to Ian Quinn it was merely a matter of being in the right place at the right time. 

Fitz had been all in on the op, ready to do his part, until he learned that he wouldn’t be partnered with Jemma. With all of the near misses they’d experienced lately, his first impulse was to stick as closely to her as he possibly could. The fact that she’d be with Coulson - and his years of experience in the field - put him somewhat at ease. If Fitz couldn’t be there to protect Jemma, at least she was with someone he trusted to do just that. 

Although that would all go right out the window if she kept on at Coulson like that, drawing attention to them all down the train car. Fitz could hear her even from the opposite end of the car, and he found himself cringing as she laid into Coulson about being an absentee father. He felt for the older man; he seemed frozen in place, shocked by the words that were spilling out of Jemma’s mouth. But the kicker was when an older gentleman stopped next to their seats and admonished Coulson himself. Their commander looked so stunned, Fitz couldn’t help but laugh. 

Skye shot him a look at that, and he turned his attention back to the map in front of him as they sorted out their stories. 

“So, are we British or American? If we're travelin’ together, we should be from the same country. How's your Scottish accent?”

Clearly feeling confident, Skye cocked her brow and leaned in. “I dunno, tell me how grea’ it is, laddie.”

It was easily the worst attempt at an accent Fitz had ever heard, but he thankfully kept himself from recoiling. Instead, he immediately flattened his natural accent and deadpanned, “American, then.”

Skye was so delighted with his take on an American accent that she skipped over his implied dig at her own attempt at sounding like a Scot. Or she was just relieved she didn’t have to concentrate on not sounding like herself. Keeping his natural accent from slipping through was all Fitz could focus on as they spoke with the conductor, so much so that he didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. Skye caught him around the neck and pulled him in to soundly kiss his cheek. 

Fitz froze, praying that Jemma hadn’t seen that and feeling thankful that she hadn’t gone for his mouth. With Skye, one could never know how far she might go to sell a story, and it was that particular knack that Fitz allowed to carry them through the rest of the conversation. Once she’d lifted the keys, they made a break for the luggage car so they could set up. Fitz had hoped Skye would let the entire incident slide, but naturally he wasn’t that lucky. 

“You, uh, got a little flustered back there.”

Fitz rolled his eyes even as he answered, “What? When y’ kissed me on the cheek like my grandmother? Good goin’. Really sellin’ our relationship there.”

“Please, like Jemma would ever let anything more than that slide.”

“Hey,” Fitz interjected, feeling a bit defensive of his girlfriend, “just because we’re datin’ doesn’t mean that Jemma will let her feelings get in the way o’ the work. She knows what goes into bein’ undercover. And she knows I love her.”

The look Skye gave him could only be described as sappy, so Fitz rushed to fill the silence with something, anything, mission related. 

“I have a device that could have done all those things - broken the lock and all that.” Tech was safe. He and Skye related when it came to tech. 

“What? Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“I’m always the gadget guy. Maybe sometimes I want t’ do things with my bare hands.”

Skye’s look suddenly turned appraising, and Fitz got the uncomfortable feeling that this was what it was like to be looked at under a microscope. He shifted to get more of his things out of his pack when he heard Skye murmur, “Eleven indeed,” before turning back to her laptop. 

Fitz froze, considering whether or not he should ask her to explain before ultimately deciding it probably wasn’t worth his probable embarrassment. 

Back in the passenger car, things had been a bit awkward between Jemma and Coulson since she’d created such a scene in front of everyone, humiliating her boss. They were sitting in silence now, Jemma holding the urn in her lap, staring out the window at the passing scenery. At the chime of a bell, tourists were directed to look outside at a famous local landmark. Jemma thought it was an excellent opportunity to insert a little more of the thoroughly researched and memorized backstory she’d prepared for her undercover persona. 

Coulson sighed, looking weary, but anything he might have said was interrupted by the realization that their comms weren’t working. All they received when they tried to hail Ward was a strange, staticky interference. Coulson stood, telling her to stay where she was, and left to go in search of the package they were after.

She had only been alone for a few moments when she looked up to see Ward entering the car, wearing a conductor’s uniform and clutching self-consciously at his shoulder. He came straight to her.

“We’ve been made,” he said quickly, leaning in to keep his voice down. “Comms are down. Where’s Coulson?”

“He went to the dining car to find the package,” she replied, looking first to the door, then back to Ward in alarm. Then she reached up towards his injured arm. “You’ve been hurt, let me take a look.”

Ward shook his head, pulling away from her. “Not now. Go to the luggage car. Lock yourself in with Fitz and Skye-- _don’t_ come out until I get you. I’m gonna get Coulson.”

Jemma nodded, slipping off her glasses, and stood to walk quickly toward the luggage car, her thoughts racing. Made? What had happened? They’d planned this operation so carefully. How could it have gone wrong?

The quicker she reached Fitz and Skye, the better. As she neared the luggage car, she broke into a run. Pushing through the door, she had a warning ready on her lips.

“We’ve been made!” she cried, then came stumbling to a halt as she took in several things at once: Fitz, on the floor of the car, struggling to get to his feet and looking winded; Skye, her face hard, holding a Night Night Gun raised and aimed; and an unfamiliar man in a suit, holding up what looked to be some sort of armed grenade.

Logic told her that since they were in a closed area, whatever the device was, it probably wasn’t fatal--unless the man was a suicide bomber, which was always a possibility. But she knew she had to protect Fitz and Skye. She had to try. So it only took her a split second to make a decision.

“Oh bloody hell,” she cried, and dove at the man, wrapping her arms around him in an attempt to keep him in one spot, from throwing the grenade or from getting closer to Fitz and Skye. She thought she heard Fitz yelling, but then there was a loud _bang_ , something hit her square in the stomach, and then everything went black.

“JEMMA!”

The cry ripped from Fitz’ throat as he watched her body bow out with the force of the blast, then collapse toward the floor. He pushed past Skye in the narrow space to lean over his girlfriend, his heart in his throat. _Please don’t be dead. She can’t be dead._ His hands fumbled against her throat as he tried to take her pulse, missing a few times before he finally found it. It was faint, but thankfully there. 

“She’s okay,” he told Skye, finally able to breathe once more. Fitz glanced between Jemma and the man who had attacked them, watching as faint purple lines absorbed into their skin. He’d seen that before, although he hadn’t expected to see it here. It was dendrotoxin, and he said as much to Skye. It also felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. At least Fitz knew that under the influence of dendrotoxin, Jemma would be up in a short while, with no ill effects. 

The same couldn’t be said of the man who’d used the grenade on her though. After they’d covered Jemma and left her with a night night gun of her own, Skye helped Fitz load their attacker into a crate. As he stood over him, rage filled Fitz and before he even realized what he was doing, he had fired multiple dendrotoxin rounds into him. “That’s for Simmons,” he murmured, although whether to justify his actions to himself or Skye, Fitz couldn’t be sure. 

He didn’t have the luxury of lingering on it. As soon as that had been settled, the train came to a screeching halt, leaving Fitz and Skye to watch as Cybertek took their package off the train. They were the only two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents left, and as much as Fitz wanted to stay and stand guard over Jemma, he had a duty to make sure the mission was carried out. With that thought in mind, he followed Skye off the train and helped her track the Cybertek convoy to its next destination. 

When Jemma came to, it was as if she had just blinked, barely a second passing. Maybe the grenade hadn’t been harmful at all, and it was just a decoy? Just a tactic devised to frighten them, distract them? All she knew was, she had a Night Night Gun, they were made, and there was a Cybertek man in the car with them. She took a deep breath and jumped to her feet.

“Everyone get down!” she yelled, firing two quick blasts into the opposite ends of the car.

“Simmons, stop!” It was Coulson, of all people, who came out from where he’d ducked behind a luggage shelf. She stared at him, wide-eyed and hopelessly confused as behind him, Ward and May also slowly stood from where they’d ducked to avoid her fire. Feeling panic and worry crawl up her throat, she turned to look behind her, then back at Coulson.

“Where are Fitz and Skye?” she asked.

As if on cue, they heard a beeping noise. They all looked to Ward, who was glancing down at something clipped to his belt. “GPS tracking device,” he said, looking back up. “That’ll be them. They probably tracked where Cybertek took the package and, with any luck, they’ll have solid intel on a connection to Ian Quinn.”

“Let’s go,” Coulson said. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

Jemma stayed tense on the ride to the estate where the GPS signal said Fitz and Skye had gone, her hands clenched in her lap. She knew they could take care of themselves, but she always felt so much better when the whole team was together, not split up, all looking out for each other. Fortunately, once they arrived, they found Fitz almost immediately, rounding some cars parked outside the front of the main house. Ward quickly took down a Cybertek agent who’d had his gun pointed at Fitz, and Jemma ran to him, reaching out to grasp his arm without thinking, reassuring herself that he was okay and in one piece. She didn’t miss the large, ugly bruise that was blossoming across the side of his face.

“She didn’t want to let Quinn get away,” Fitz said shakily when asked where Skye was, pointing back towards the house. Coulson looked to Ward; the other man nodded, and they all ran to the house.

Ward went in first, guns blazing, and quickly took down all of Quinn’s remaining men, while Coulson pinned down Quinn himself. “Where’s Skye?” he demanded.

Quinn looked infuriatingly smug and condescending, despite the fact that he was in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. “You know, Agent Coulson, it’s dangerous to keep sending her in like that, all alone, when she means so much to you.”

Jemma flinched as Coulson snapped, striking Quinn across the face with his pistol, but she snapped back to attention when he ordered them to search the house, to find Skye. She and Fitz immediately went to the stairs, taking them two at a time in their haste to find their friend. Once upstairs, they went quickly down the hallway, checking every room they could, but there was no sign of Skye. They were only through about half of them when they heard Coulson’s shout.

“Simmons! Get down here!”

She froze, looking at Fitz. “Cellar?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes wide.

They turned as one and ran as fast as they could back downstairs, and then to the cellar. When they burst in through the door, Jemma was certain her heart stopped. Coulson was kneeling on the floor next to Skye, her face deathly pale except for the blood that seeped from between her lips, and her entire midsection was covered in red.

She sprang immediately into action, kneeling down at her other side, trying to assess the situation as quickly as she could. At least one gunshot wound to the abdomen. Severe blood loss. Shock, most likely. “Keep her upright,” she said, leaning to try and get a good look at Skye’s face. It didn’t look good; her situation was critical, and they were too far out in the countryside. She doubted they would get to proper medical attention in time. She took a deep breath as panic and helplessness threatened. “She’s lost too much blood...I don’t…”

Her eyes swept over the room, landing on the metal tube lying open in the corner. Suddenly, it clicked. “Put her in there,” she ordered. 

“Do you even know what this thing is?” Ward asked.

Her temper flared; now was _not_ the time to be questioning her. “It’s a hyperbaric chamber, and I said put her in there now!”

They worked as a team to get Skye into the hyperbaric chamber, all of them supporting her limp body until the machine made it impossible to do so further. Jemma went back to barking out orders, her fear nearly palpable, and Fitz rushed to do what she asked. He began fiddling with the controls on the chamber, hardly aware of the blood that was beginning to crust around his fingernails. 

All he was really aware of was Jemma, tense beside him as she watched Skye through the glass panel. It was only after the other woman gasped, her breath fogging the pane in front of her mouth, that Jemma relaxed at all. Although Fitz wasn’t sure it could actually be called relaxing; she merely unfroze and began to direct them how to transfer Skye to the Bus without causing further damage. 

Fitz did his part, sticking close to Jemma while they maneuvered the chamber. He was aware that perhaps his concern was misplaced. Yes, Jemma was nearing her breaking point, but she wasn’t the one with hot lead in her stomach. Guilt began to nibble at Fitz; he shouldn’t have let Skye go alone. He knew how dangerous it was for new agents, should have insisted she stay outside with him, but he hadn’t and here she was. 

Still, Jemma was all he had eyes for. He watched as she checked on Skye, listened as she explained to Coulson what she had done and what could be done further, and Fitz knew she was near her breaking point. Which was why when she excused herself, peeling away from the team, Fitz found himself following her automatically. 

Jemma had kept it together for the sake of the team for as long as she could. Her excuse to leave was a thin one, anything to get away from the eyes of the others; she felt ready to break and she didn’t want them to see her weak, incapable. They needed her to be strong Jemma Simmons, able to do her job despite anything. She couldn’t do that if she felt so dangerously unmoored emotionally.

So she escaped to the storeroom, the first place she could think of where the others weren’t likely to come looking for her. Once there, she cast about for a second, unsure. She’d only wanted to get _away._ But then she looked down and saw the blood on her hands, and she moved automatically to one of the cabinets, pulling it open and reaching for a packet of sterile gauze. Maybe she could clean up, at least. Then she wouldn’t have to see the blood and remember that it was Skye’s blood, remember that Skye was in critical condition with a bleak outlook, and that there was nothing she could do to help her.

The packet tore open and she pulled out a wad of gauze, but it did nothing for the blood on her hands. She grit her teeth, scrubbing harder, feeling her composure fracture even more. But it was only when she heard soft footsteps behind her and a hand landed gently on her shoulder that she crumbled. Of course. She couldn’t have hoped to hide from Fitz; he knew her too well, knew she was at her limit, and knew where she would have gone. And maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to hide from him anyway. She knew he was hurting too, but she needed what strength he could give. Maybe they could help support each other.

Feeling the tears she’d been struggling to hold back spring to her eyes, she turned to look back at him, and there he was: his face quiet, non-judgmental, understanding. Without a word, he made to gather her up into his arms, and that was when she completely broke down, sobbing against his shoulder as he held her. 

Fitz clutched at her, arms around her shoulders as he held Jemma close and let her cry. In all the time he’d known her, he couldn’t recall seeing her this broken up which only served to tell him just now dire Skye’s situation was. Fitz did his best to soothe Jemma, making soft shushing noises as he rubbed his hands across her shoulders. 

“Y’ did everythin’ y’ could, Jemma. She’s still with us. Skye is breathin’, and that’s thanks t’ you.”

He kept murmuring those things to her, uncertain if they were more for Jemma or for himself. Fitz could feel guilt creeping around his edges, waiting for him to fully realize his role in what had happened to their teammate, but he pushed it to the side to focus on the woman in his arms. Jemma was Skye’s best chance now, and she’d played her part beautifully. In the long run it didn’t actually matter who they were meant to calm. The words had their intended effect, soothing them both and Fitz began to press small kisses to Jemma’s temple. 

Fitz pulled back just enough to see her eyes and automatically brought his hand around to cup her face. His thumb brushed over Jemma’s tear-stained cheek as he surveyed her, taking in her red-rimmed eyes and shaky breath. Jemma had never felt her best when she felt unkempt, so Fitz set about addressing that. 

Gently taking the gauze from her, he found the alcohol solution and wet the pad down before running it over Jemma’s hands. The gauze turned pink as he worked, and Fitz went through a few of them, making sure he got the majority of the blood off Jemma’s hands. Satisfied that he’d done what he could, Fitz gathered the used pads and wrapper and found his voice once more. 

“Go on and clean up if y’ want, Jemma. I’ll clean up here and go sit with Skye. We should be gettin’ t’ the medical center soon.” 

Jemma watched in silence as Fitz cleaned her up, immeasurably grateful for his gentle attentiveness. She wanted to thank him, to say anything, but the words felt stuck in her throat. It was only when he directed her to go take care of herself that she too found her voice again. 

“You know it could have just as easily been you, right?” she said quietly, staring at some point on his chest. “Or the both of you.” She thought of the man Ward had taken down outside the house, who’d been about to shoot Fitz. “What if I’d had to choose? What if I’d had to do triage and pick which one of you to save?” 

A fresh wave of tears welled up, but she stubbornly blinked them back, refusing to break down again. Then she gave him an unsteady smile, the best one she could muster, and turned to leave.


	13. Chapter 13

Once they arrived at the medical center, Jemma was swept up in getting Skye rushed to surgery, explaining to the doctors what had happened and what she had done to get Skye stabilized as best she could. Handing her off was a relief--these doctors could take better care of Skye than she could--but she was also a nervous wreck, not being able to be there to oversee her care, to be able to help in any way she could.

All they could do was sit in one of the hospital’s waiting rooms and wait for news. Jemma sat pressed up against Fitz’s side on one of the small couches, her hand in his. Guilt over letting Skye go in alone was now fully eating him up, and nothing she or Ward said to try and ease it helped. Coulson spent long minutes on his phone trying to contact Director Fury, and May was a silent sentinel in the corner watching them all.

It felt like several hours had passed before a doctor finally came out to see them, and the news wasn’t good. The surgical team had done what they could, but they couldn’t save Skye. The only thing left to be done was to make her comfortable and hope she passed peacefully.

The team stared in stunned shock. Ward looked away, his mouth pressing down into a firm line; Jemma inhaled, her grip on Fitz’s hand tightening. She didn’t want to believe it: that their loud, funny, boisterous friend was dying, that there was no hope for her, that they would never see her laugh or smile again, that she would never tease them anymore, that it was just...over.

But Coulson had a plan. There were doctors who had brought him back from the dead, he said; maybe they could do the same for Skye. So preparations were made for Skye to be loaded into one of the medical pods stored on the Bus, complete with all the equipment needed to keep her on life support. Coulson gave her and Fitz the report on his death and recovery after the Battle of New York, ordering them to read it even though it was above their clearance level, telling them to glean any information from it that they could that might help Skye.

However, their plans to get Skye to the hospital that had treated Coulson were interrupted when S.H.I.E.L.D. sent a quinjet and fighter escort after them for disobeying a direct order to hand over Ian Quinn for interrogation. That brought agents Garrett and Triplett into the mix.

Even without the medpod tucked next to their lab, the sudden arrival of strangers would have put Fitz on edge. As it was, he found himself doing everything he could to avoid them on the Bus and buried himself in the backlog of paperwork on his desk. It needed to be finished and wouldn’t require his full attention, and had the added benefit of keeping him away from their newest Alpha male additions. 

The only downside was that it also gave him plenty of time to mull over what Jemma had said. Fitz had been so focused on what had actually happened with Skye that he hadn’t even stopped to consider other potential outcomes. Jemma’s quiet statement about potentially having to perform triage had painted it in a different light though, and Fitz realized just how close to dying he’d actually come. Not only that, but what it would do to Jemma if something ever happened to him. Fitz knew how shattered he’d be if something were to happen to her, but that was the first time he’d ever thought about what she’d go through if the roles were reversed. 

Then and there he resolved to be more careful. 

Unfortunately Fitz wasn’t in a position to keep that promise. Somehow Coulson had convinced Garrett to run his interrogation on the Bus instead of rerouting them away from Bethesda, which meant that once he and Jemma had discovered the location of the Guest House they were also privy to that information. And once he realized they’d be running a mission into the facility, Garrett’s eyes had lit up with a kind of manic glee that made Fitz deeply uncomfortable. 

Still, when they needed someone who could go into the facility and make sense of what was there, Fitz stepped up. Jemma couldn’t leave Skye, and he would be damned if he let Jemma down. He was just thankful that he managed to keep his head when the firefight began and that he’d been able to find the last vial of GH-325 - the drug that had saved Coulson’s life. Knowing he’d had the means to saving Skye cradled in his palm lit a new kind of fire in Fitz, and as soon as Ward had forced a wide enough opening in the door he took off like a shot for the Bus. 

He’d never felt more like a hero than when he’d slapped the vial into Jemma’s hand, although that feeling disappeared as soon as Skye began convulsing on her narrow hospital bed. 

Jemma had felt a little sliver of worry work its way through her when Fitz went off to the Guest House, but she was mainly preoccupied with making sure Skye stayed stable long enough to make it through their mission. Besides, he had Coulson, Ward, _and_ Garrett to watch his back. He would be more than fine.

Having Agent Triplett to keep her company was a welcome distraction during the quiet moments, too. It kept her from getting too inside her own head. He’d been trained as a combat medic and offered some helpful suggestions on what to do in order to make Skye more comfortable, which she’d gladly welcomed. He was very friendly, too--maybe a bit _too_ friendly, if she was reading him correctly, but she wasn’t bothered by it. She had the feeling Trip would cheerfully flirt with anyone given the chance, even Skye if she were awake and mobile. She was still glad Fitz wasn’t around to see it, though, unsure how he would handle an attractive, well-built Ops agent flirting with her. She liked to think he was secure in their relationship but, well, she hadn’t reacted well to running into his ex at the Hub, either.

Though they’d lost radio contact with the team, Jemma had trusted that things were going well. It had only been a little while, after all. Things weren’t going so well on her end, though--Skye kept slipping under--but she was stable again, until the radio crackled to life and Fitz’s distorted voice came through, telling them to get the Bus off the ground, immediately. At almost the same moment, all of Skye’s monitor alarms blared again and she seized up as her heart rate flatlined.

Jemma jumped into action again, immediately starting chest compressions, desperately trying to save her friend. When Fitz came running in with the GH-325, she was relieved to see him and wanted to know anything on drug admissions instructions--dosage, where to administer, _anything_ \--but Fitz didn’t know. In the end, her need to save Skye won out, and she injected the entire vial into the vein in the crook of Skye’s elbow.

Just as she was finishing, Coulson ran into the doorway of the med pod at full tilt. “No! Don’t give it to her!”

She looked up as she withdrew the syringe, the drone of the monitors’ flatline blaring loudly in her ears. “I was losing her anyway, what harm can it do?” she asked quietly. Coulson swallowed and looked away. Next to him, Garrett was watching the monitors. Slowly, the numbers began to tick up.

“It’s working,” he said.

Jemma smiled tremulously and looked down at Skye, reaching out to run a soft hand over the crown of her head, smoothing her hair back. Then, suddenly, her back arched and she made a horrible, gurgling noise in her throat as her heart rate spiked sharply, dangerously. Everyone around her cried out, asking what was going on, begging her for answers, demanding that she do something. But she didn’t know. She didn’t know what was happening, or what to do, or how to help. All she could do was watch helplessly as Skye continued to convulse, as she kept stroking her hair as if that would help somehow, tears filling her eyes, until finally, finally, Skye collapsed back against the pillow and her heartbeat slowed.

Jemma looked at the monitors in disbelief. “She’s stabilizing,” she said.

When Trip asked her what it was she’d given Skye, she evaded his question as much as she was able to, knowing Coulson would want her to keep mum. And she let his praise fall on numb ears after that, too. All she could think about was her relief that Skye seemed to be stabilizing, yes, but there were her deep reservations about what she herself had done to get her there. She tuned everything else around her out, working to make sure Skye’s vitals really were evening out. Once she was sure that they truly were--and miracle of miracles, they were: the color returning to her cheeks, even being able to take out the breathing tube--Jemma slipped quietly away upstairs to her bunk to try and regroup mentally.

Fitz watched her go, fighting back the impulse to trail after her. With two newcomers on the plane, he didn’t want to reveal too much about himself or Jemma. Coulson might be all right with looking the other way, but Garrett or Trip might be far more inclined to follow S.H.I.E.L.D.’s handbook to the letter. With all that had happened already, Fitz wasn’t in the mood to be reported for a violation of Section 17 on top of it. 

Instead he stripped off his tac gear and stowed it properly before turning his attention to the equipment they’d brought with them. Once everything was in its place and the lab and medpod were back to Jemma’s exacting standards, Fitz climbed the stairs into the lounge, only to find himself halting on the top step when he heard Coulson and Garrett.

“Til next time.”

“Might be sooner than you think.” Fitz could hear Garrett’s voice moving away as he headed toward the stairs to the roof of the Bus. “My man Trip’s got eyes for that biotech gal of yours.”

Fitz did his best to breathe through his sudden burst of anger, telling himself that he was upset Garrett hadn’t acknowledged that Jemma was a _doctor_ , not a technician, and not because of the insinuation that Trip had been hitting on his girlfriend. Fitz had no such luck, though, and had to work to remind himself that Jemma was upset because of Skye. She needed him to support her in that, not try to engage in a pissing contest with a visiting specialist. No matter how tempting it might be. 

He approached the door to her bunk and knocked softly, not wanting to startle her. “Jemma? Can I come in?” Fitz tried the handle, and finding it open, slid the door open part way so he could peek inside. 

Jemma looked up at the sound of his voice and her door opening, letting out a sigh. Though she was still tense, she was glad to see Fitz. She didn’t think there would ever be a time she would be unhappy to see him, and had even left her door ajar in the hopes that he would see it and take it as the silent invitation it was. She gave him a strained smile.

“Close the door, please,” she said quietly, shifting over to make space for him on her bed beside her if he wanted to sit down. “How--how did everything go? I never got a chance to ask you, aside from knowing you recovered the...the GH-325.” She took in a shaky breath at the mention of the drug. “Is everything settled?” 

Her silent invitation was all Fitz needed. He shut the door and after a moment's hesitation locked it for good measure. Neither of them were on solid footing and he was confident that they wouldn't want to be interrupted if they could help it. 

He sat next to Jemma and wrapped his arm around her, hauling her in close to himself. Just having her tucked under his arm made him feel better, and he hoped Jemma felt the same.

“Everythin’ went alright. Well, as much as it ever does with us.” Fitz met Jemma's eyes and gave her a small smile. “We had t' fight our way in and they tried t’ detonate explosives on the way out, but we're okay.

“I checked on Skye. She's sleepin’. Her vitals look okay, too, at least as far as I know t’ look.” Fitz watched as Jemma processed the information, her head nodding while she looked past him. “What about you, Jemma. Are y’ all right?”

Having Fitz close helped to relax Jemma, and she sank into his side a bit as he talked. She knew about the explosives--she’d felt the plane shudder from the blasts as May had gotten them up in the air--and while she knew she should probably be more bothered by yet another close call, mostly she was just relieved that Fitz was whole and healthy beside her. She wanted to focus on that, rather than on the might-have-beens, especially with what they were dealing with now.

At his question, she sighed heavily as her shoulders sagged. “Oh, Fitz, I don’t know,” she said, doubt coloring her voice. “I know Skye is better now and that she’s stabilized, but I...I can’t help but think...at what cost? We know nothing about GH-325, what it is, its potential effects, where it came from, what it’s made of...just that it saved Coulson. It’s a complete unknown.” She looked worriedly up at Fitz. “How can I be sure that I did the right thing?”

The look Jemma wore tore at his heart, the uncertainty that she might have done something to harm their friend clearly weighing on her. It wasn’t right that someone like her, someone who only wanted what was best for others, had to feel that way, but Fitz had no idea how to fix it. All he could think to do was touch her, so he cupped her face in his hands and gently brushed his thumbs across the apples of her cheeks, taking a moment to drink her in. 

“Jemma, y’ did everythin’ possible t’ save Skye. And when y’ reached the limits of what was available, y’ took a risk because it came down t’ doin’ something or watchin’ her die. Y’ saved a teammate, which is all anyone in command at S.H.I.E.L.D. could ask.”

Wanting something more to reassure himself as much as her, Fitz leaned in and kissed Jemma. It was short and sweet, almost chaste in its simplicity, but it left him feeling better for having done it. 

“If the Director o’ S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it was worth usin’ GH-325 to save Coulson, then I don’t see how it wouldn’t be worth it t’ save Skye. Y’ made the right choice, Jemma. I believe that.” 

Jemma found herself leaning after Fitz as he pulled away, wanting more of his touch, needing it to help ground her and ease her fears. She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed, nodding as she let his words sink in.

“I want to believe that,” she said, gently squeezing his wrists where her hands had slipped up to hold them as he’d kissed her. “I really do. But I’m not sure that I’ll feel better until we know more about the drug. I want to look into it more, and find out everything we can. Maybe run some comparative tests on Skye’s blood, since we don’t have any more samples of the drug itself.”

Then she sighed, her shoulders drooping once more. “I suppose I should just be grateful that Skye is still with us at all.”

“We can start runnin’ tests as soon as y’ think Skye is up for a blood draw,” Fitz promised, leaning forward to rest his head against Jemma’s. “We’ll test her and we’ll ask whoever we need t’ for a consult, just so we’re sure.”

Her reaction wasn’t what Fitz had hoped, although she did seem marginally more relaxed with his promise that they could start testing in the morning. Wanting to comfort Jemma but at a loss for what to say, he resorted to what he knew worked to comfort them both. She shot him a quizzical look when he released her to scoot back against the bulkhead and stretch out along her bunk. That disappeared though when Fitz reached for Jemma’s hand and gave a tug to encourage her to lie down with him. 

“C’mere, Jemma.” Fitz’ tone was a tad needier than he’d have liked, but it didn’t really matter so long as it was only the two of them. “It’s been a day, and I’d like t’ hold y’ for a while. Please?”

Jemma was only too eager to oblige. “It has definitely been a day,” she said, huffing a weak laugh, and let Fitz pull her down. She settled into her spot in the crook of his shoulder and curled into him, letting out a small sigh as his arm came around her. Then she tried to relax, truly relax, but her muscles protested. She’d been tense all day, and they were knotted terribly. Still, she breathed out through her nose and nestled in closer to his side, slipping her hand up beneath his shirt to run over the warm skin of his stomach and ribs.

“This helps a lot,” she whispered after a long moment. “Being with you.” 

Though she was very affectionate physically in private, it still wasn’t often that Jemma used her words to communicate her love in ways like this, and it was telling that she was opening up now.

“Good. I’m glad.” 

Fitz murmured the words into her hair as he pressed a kiss to crown and did his best to settle in himself. The way Jemma was holding herself against him felt off somehow, and he realized what it was as soon as he brought his arm around her shoulders. All of her muscles were tight, and he immediately slipped a hand beneath her shirt to start working on the knots there. Fitz worked methodically, focusing on one and only moving to the next once it had released. 

They lay that way for several long minutes, each of them basking in the other. Things had been non-stop for ages, leaving weeks to feel like months, and Fitz was glad they’d been able to hit the pause button, even for a little bit. 

“Y’ know, I heard something interestin’ earlier.” Fitz glanced down his chest at Jemma to see how she’d respond to what he said next. “Apparently Garrett seems t’ think Agent Triplett ‘has eyes’ for y’.”

Jemma’s fingers paused in the light circles they were drawing over his ribs, and she barked out a short, stilted laugh, the force of it shaking her against him. “What?” she said, craning her head to look up at him, but something about the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes was off, as if she knew more than she was letting on.

Which, of course, she did, and she was finding Fitz’s own tone to be far more casual than she would have expected, considering the topic. She just hadn’t expected it to ever go farther than between her and Trip, so for Garrett to know and say something...she fought the urge to squirm.

Fitz arched a brow at her, uncertain whether he was more upset about the fact that she’d stopped running her fingers along his side or that Jemma clearly knew exactly what he was talking about. He clicked his tongue at her even as he went back to rubbing her back. As much as he wasn’t thrilled about the idea of a tall, dark, and handsome specialist flirting with his girlfriend, Fitz trusted her implicitly. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease her a little about it first.

“So he _does_ have eyes for y’, hmm?” Fitz allowed the corners of his mouth to drift upward just the slightest bit to show Jemma he wasn’t actually upset. Maybe in need of a little reassurance, but definitely not angry with her.

Jemma stared at Fitz for a long moment, not sure how to take his reply. She thought she’d been very opaque, but evidently he’d been able to read her like an open book anyway. And she felt she’d been doing so much better at evasion, lately.

(At least he didn’t look angry, or jealous. That counted for a lot. On top of everything else that had happened today, she didn’t think she could have taken a sulking Fitz.)

“I--well--I wouldn’t say _eyes_ , not especially, no,” she sputtered, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Though...perhaps there _were_ some advances made. Which were very quickly and politely redirected, I assure you!” She ducked her head back down against his chest. “I can’t believe Agent Garrett said anything about it. I can’t believe he _knew_ anything about it.” She huffed. “ _Men._ ”

Fitz shifted down the mattress, making it impossible for Jemma to duck against his chest as he put his face level with hers. He much preferred the look she wore now - embarrassed, perhaps, but ultimately in good spirits - to the one she’d had a few hours ago when she was terrified for their friend. 

He watched Jemma, his eyes tracing over her face and taking in her blush and the way her eyes shone even in the dim light of her bunk. Fitz thought she was gorgeous and he really couldn’t fault another man for recognizing it. Although if Antoine Triplett ever seemed too keen on appreciating her beauty, he would have something to say about it. 

“The man has good taste,” he murmured as he closed the gap between them, channeling a bit of the flirtatious persona Jemma had asked him to adopt in Dublin. “I can appreciate that. But what I would appreciate more is if my girlfriend would kiss me. Might help me forget the fact there’s another man lurkin’.” Fitz licked his lips and purposefully stared at Jemma’s mouth, hoping to goad her into closing the distance between them. 

_There_ was the jealousy Jemma had been expecting from him, though it wasn’t anger or sulking--not petulant, anyway. Instead, it was a bit of cheeky flirtation, and that in turn was something that she could appreciate after the stress of the day. It was exactly what she needed. So she tutted quietly at him--couldn’t let him think he was _too_ charming--but still smiled, before leaning forward to press her lips ardently against his, sliding her hand into his hair.

Fitz couldn’t help but groan at the feeling of Jemma’s fingers in his hair. Everytime she did that it made each kiss feel weighty, something he loved and Jemma was more than capable of taking advantage of. Not to be outdone, Fitz wrapped his arm low around her waist and hauled Jemma flush against him so he could slant her mouth open with his own. He was vaguely aware that he might be pushing a bit much, given where they were, but his possessive streak had taken hold. And all Fitz really wanted to do was let it play out, just for a little bit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit content warning!

Jemma felt a little thrill wash through her at Fitz's groan, which was only amplified when he pulled her against him, deepening their kiss. If this was what he’d wanted by challenging her to kiss him, then she would be more than happy to provide, welcoming them to lose themselves in each other a little bit in order to decompress after the stress of the past 48 hours. 

She hummed at the stroke of his tongue over hers, pressing closer into him, and scratched her fingernails lightly over his scalp, knowing exactly how much he liked that and the sort of effect it had on him. Then she moved to lean back against the mattress a little, using her hand in his hair to tug him with her, encouraging him to rest his weight on her and loving the feeling of it.

Fitz gladly moved when Jemma tugged at him, slipping his knees between her own and propping himself on an elbow above her. Their new position allowed him to expand his focus and Fitz began trailing kisses along Jemma's jaw and down her neck accordingly. The sounds she made went straight to his groin and he rocked against her slowly on instinct, simply enjoying the contact without any real intention of pushing for more. 

That didn't stop him from slipping a hand beneath Jemma to palm her arse when he did it again though, or from enjoying the way she gasped. He hoped it meant her brain was powering down a bit, that he was distracting her from what had undoubtedly been a string of their worst days on the Bus. Fitz hadn't been able to stop the terrible things that had happened but saying he'd put Jemma at ease would be just as good. 

Not that Fitz was above soothing himself, either. Finding a spot on her neck that drew a particularly lovely soft moan from Jemma, he set about worrying at it with lips, teeth and tongue. He wanted to see how often he could get her to make that sound again, and if he happened to leave a mark for Triplett to see, well… Fitz certainly wouldn't complain. 

Jemma tipped her head back, exposing more of her neck to him, and bit back another moan. She loved this: the weight of him pressing her down into the mattress, the fit of his hips against hers, the way they moved languidly together without any real urgency, how his lips worried at a tender spot on her neck. It made a low heat spread through her body, her thoughts turning hazy, washing away the worries of the day, leaving her concerned only with Fitz.

She moaned quietly as Fitz nipped at her neck again, and drew her knees up, locking her ankles around the backs of his thighs. It changed the angle of their hips slightly, and she rolled against him slowly, enjoying the soft waves of pleasure that rolled out through her. It made her arch up into him, and she tightened her arms around him, sighing out his name.

He had never thought of his name as being anything particularly special, but Fitz was rapidly reevaluating his opinion. The way Jemma said it - high, breathy, and as though it was the only thing she could think of - was fast becoming his favorite thing in the world. That, along with the way she twined herself around him, pressing herself against his body, made Fitz grin against her throat even as he bit back a quiet moan. 

There was something about knowing that he pleased Jemma that left him flooded with tenderness for her. The way she trusted him so completely to take care of her, that she could shut her brain off and let Fitz lead floored him. There were times when Fitz doubted he deserved that kind of trust, but he was determined not to squander it. He would dedicate himself to keeping Jemma happy. 

With that in mind Fitz kissed his way across her clavicle to the other side of her neck, giving it all the attention it deserved before finding her mouth again. His hand began to wander as well, creeping beneath the hem of her blouse to find the soft, warm skin hidden there. Fitz would never tire of touching Jemma this way, of being able to take his time touching her. He did just that, mapping her with his fingertips as his hand crept up along her ribs until they were just brushing the bottom of her bra. 

Jemma sighed in what could only be pleased contentment as Fitz kissed her mouth again, reveling in the slow slide of their lips together, the brushes of his tongue, the way everything about him filled her with warmth and a slowly-increasing need. She brought her hands around to frame his face, her thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as they kissed, arching again into his touch as his hand slipped beneath her shirt. But it was only when his hand crept higher, his fingertips bumping against the lower curve of her breast, that her breath hitched and sped up, and suddenly she felt like her skin was alive, every point of contact between them magnified, and she desperately wanted him to touch her.

Fitz didn't miss the way Jemma's breath hitched, or the way she arched in a subtle attempt to shift his hand more firmly over her breast. He had a moment of internal debate over whether or not it would be more fun to tease Jemma, but ultimately decided to give in. He cupped her breast in his hand and brushed his thumb over her nipple, teasing her through the thin material of her bra. 

It pebbled in response to his ministrations, standing firm and proud and begging to be teased further. Fitz did just that, gently rolling Jemma's nipple between his thumb and forefinger even as he muffled her pleased gasp with another kiss. He did it again, this time moaning along with her as another roll of her hips forced his erection more firmly against Jemma's center. 

Jemma was transported, her entire system flooded with adrenaline and pleasure, her nerves singing at the deft touch of his fingers at her nipple and the press of him at her center. She’d known he was hard, but this was the first real taste of his arousal that she’d gotten, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to grab his hips and grind against him, her clit pressing against the seam of her jeans, until she’d eased the ache between her legs. Or until she’d eased the ache sure to be between _his_ legs. But despite the rush of sensation clouding her sense, she still knew where they were, and the risks associated with it. She kissed him, not willing to give up arching her back, pushing her breast into his hand, before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Should we,” she panted dizzily, her lips brushing against his. “Should--um--” 

Fitz heard the uncertainty in Jemma's voice, even through his lust-filled haze and the way she pressed her breast into this hand. He couldn't help giving the flesh in this palm a light squeeze in an instinctive response before gently stroking his fingers over it and retreating to the safer territory of her ribs. When he had asked to hold her, Fitz honestly hadn't meant for things to get this heated. He certainly wasn't complaining that they had, but he could venture a guess as to why Jemma had raised the question. 

“Whatever y’ want,” Fitz murmured. He gave her a quick kiss and nuzzled Jemma's cheek. As much as he'd be happy to keep going, he could just as easily pull back and let things cool. 

She couldn’t help the soft “no” that fell from her lips as Fitz pulled his hand away, her stomach dropping in disappointment, nor could she stop herself from tightening her legs wrapped around him, as if she were afraid he’d pull away there, too. It wasn’t so much for her own sake that she’d offered up a warning; she’d done it more for his benefit, knowing how much he valued his privacy and how thin an edge they were skating here. But she trusted herself to keep quiet enough if need be.

She shook her head before trying to kiss him again, a little too far gone to be able to stop now with any hope of dignity about it, and hoping to hell that he didn’t want to. “Please, Fitz,” she whispered, and kissed him with purpose. “ _Please._ ”

It was her quiet plea that was his undoing and Fitz leaned down to return Jemma’s kiss with just as much ardor. He felt her legs tighten a little further around his waist as he allowed his weight to settle over her once more and groaned against her mouth. How was it that with such a small gesture Jemma could make him feel so _wanted_? Everything she did - from the way she kissed him to how she held him - made Fitz feel desired, and he wanted to return the favor. 

He slid his hand out from beneath Jemma’s blouse, ignoring her noise of protest to undo the buttons of her cardigan. With that falling open his hand was free to turn to the smaller buttons of her blouse, and Fitz slowly began to undo them, taking the time to caress her newly exposed skin before loosening the next. It was difficult to keep himself from flying through the process, but he forced himself to have some control. Fitz had enjoyed the soft, slow way they had been kissing and wanting to carry that through to whatever was in the cards for them tonight. 

“Jemma,” he murmured, his fingers skimming over her belly button simply to enjoy the shiver that ran through her, “tell me what you’d like.” She had said please, after all, and while Fitz felt confident he could please her without explicit instructions, he wanted to hear Jemma whisper to him what it was she wanted. 

Jemma shivered again at the low hum of his words, closing her eyes to better take it in. She'd reached down to pull at his shirt a little, hiking it up around his stomach, and the slight whisper of his skin against hers where he'd opened her blouse was tantalizing.

“Your hands,” she whispered, thinking of all the things she knew he could do with them. “I want your hands on me. Your mouth. Please.”

Fitz hadn’t anticipated the way hearing Jemma’s request - particularly in that husky, wanting tone - would affect him, but it left him electrified. Even more so when he realized she had only managed to form the most basic of sentences, that brilliant mind of hers downshifting as they lost themselves in the moment. Fitz began to work faster, his fingers twitching the buttons on her blouse open until it too drifted to the side and left her open to him. 

He shifted his weight, lifting up just enough so he could better see Jemma and sighing in admiration. His hand found her waist and Fitz carefully traced her curves, admiring each freckle that dotted her skin. His hand found her breast again, cupping her through her bra as he leaned down to kiss her again. 

“Beautiful.” He whispered against her lips between kisses. Fitz was trying to take his time, but Jemma’s words - and his own arousal - urged him forward. He trailed kisses down her neck once more, this time venturing further to press hot, needy kisses to the swell of her breasts. 

Jemma mewled quietly against his kiss, her breath hitching sharply through her nose as Fitz palmed her breast again. His touch and his whispered words were a tease she wanted to drown in, a slow torturous build of the best kind, slowly driving her out of her mind until there was nothing left but pleasure, and the worries that had plagued her fell away. She trusted him to take care of her. 

She breathed in deeply as his lips trailed down her neck, leaving tingles and shivers in their wake, and then tensed as his mouth moved onto her chest, her breathing turning short and shallow again. She wanted his mouth on her so badly she could practically feel it, ached for it, but she wasn't going to push him. She still wanted the slow, languorous pace they'd found. So she threaded her fingers through his hair again and slowly rolled her hips, clutching him gently to her, and whispered his name, her voice just as needy as his kisses.

Fitz paused his attentions and groaned, the sound muffled by Jemma’s breast, as she ground against him. They weren’t quite aligned, but her hips had managed to apply the barest hint of teasing pressure and his cock had responded in kind. As much as he enjoyed simply being able to kiss and admire Jemma, he had a feeling that neither of them could endure much more teasing for long. 

He placed a kiss between her breasts, just above her heart, and slipped his arms beneath her back before sitting back onto his heels. Fitz carried Jemma with him, a thrill shivering down his spine when her weight settled her firmly against his arousal. Keeping one hand on the swell of her bum to ensure she wouldn’t slip, he began working her blouse and cardigan off with the other. It was slow work as neither of them seemed particularly keen to stop kissing, but that was fine by Fitz. They had time. 

Jemma’s bra was the next item Fitz jettisoned from the bed and he ducked his head to return his attention to the delicate skin of her chest. Their new position stymied him though, and Fitz found himself pressing Jemma backward onto the mattress once more so he could have better access to the skin he’d just exposed. 

Jemma felt dizzy as Fitz lifted her up to sit, barely able to cling to him to keep the bunk from tilting crazily, kissing him over and over again, only letting go long enough to let him push her clothes down off her arms. She felt drunk off his kisses, his touch. When he moved to her chest she wanted to hold him to her, but he changed his mind and pressed her back to the mattress instead. She went willingly, tugging him after her and parting her knees to invite him back between her thighs.

The first touch of Fitz’s lips to her breast made her breath catch, fire sparking through her veins. He dotted a few soft kisses around it: the upper swell, the sides, the lower curve. But it was only when he took her nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, that Jemma gasped sharply and bit her lip hard to keep from outright moaning the way instinct wanted her to. Instead she arched up into him, her legs wrapping around his waist again, and silently begged for more with the movement of her body. Her hands moved down, fumbling for his shirt, and blindly pulled at it again, this time with the intent for it to come fully off.

Realizing that Jemma was entirely capable of ripping his shirt in her haste, Fitz quickly moved to help her. Grabbing the back of his collar, he hauled it over his head and blindly tossed it to the side before returning his mouth to Jemma’s skin. Knowing how she liked it, Fitz went right back to teasing her nipple, alternating between speed and pressure based on the cues Jemma gave him. 

Fitz slipped a hand down Jemma’s stomach, dancing over the curve of her waist on its way to the snap of her jeans. He made quick work of it along with the zip, and began doing his best to shimmy the tight material over Jemma’s hips without having to stop his other ministrations. 

Jemma ran her hands over Fitz’s shoulders as soon as they were bare, loving how warm and smooth his skin felt, the play of his muscles beneath her palms, before wrapping her arms around his neck to slip her arms as far as she could down his back. She was still breathing out tiny gasps in lieu of moans as he worked her, the rasp of his tongue against her sensitive nipple sending her higher and higher.

Then she let go of him to help with her jeans, struggling to toe off her boots without undoing the laces. She heard them thunk to the floor, one after the other; then she shifted to push and shimmy her jeans the rest of the way off, taking care not to knee Fitz in a vulnerable spot.

Once they were kicked to the floor, Jemma briefly brought her hands up to card her fingers through Fitz’s hair, a shudder running through her at the pleasure he was giving her, but then she reached for his hips. Hooking her fingers around his belt loops, she tugged him just a little bit closer, then brought one hand around to cup him through his pants, her fingers stroking over his length through the thick fabric. She inhaled at how hard he felt, and stroked him again.

It was Fitz’ turn to gasp at the feel of Jemma’s hand - hot, grasping, and absolutely perfect against his cock - even through the thick denim material. His hips thrust forward into her touch, craving more of her touch and the pleasure it provided. It wasn’t enough though, not by a long shot, and Fitz found himself trying to maneuver his hands around Jemma’s so he could get his own jeans undone.

He managed the snap and the zip and was set on pushing them down when Jemma distracted him, her hand unerringly finding his cock once more. Fitz couldn’t help but moan at the sensation, so much more intense now that there were fewer layers between them, and quickly sank his teeth into his lower lip to stifle the sound. While he knew that the rest of the team was well aware that he and Jemma were together, he’d much rather not be discovered _in flagrante delicto_.

Although, with the way Jemma was looking up at him, hazel eyes ablaze as she surveyed him, Fitz was forgetting to care. 

It was that look that made it all the more difficult to pull away, but he managed to slip off the mattress so he could divest himself of the rest of his clothing. Fitz made quick work of it, spurred on by her gaze on him, and immediately returned to Jemma. The feeling of her, naked and fully pressed against him, drew another soft moan from Fitz that he muffled against her shoulder before craning his neck up to claim her mouth in a heated kiss. 

Jemma poured everything she had into that kiss, using it to muffle her own moan of desire. She stretched up into him as her hands roamed his body, wanting to touch every bit of him that she could, relishing the feel of skin-on-skin contact, adoring the way he held her, touched her, kissed her. 

She shuddered again when she felt him hard and hot against her inner thigh, and it was all she could do not to take his hips and roll into them, making him rut against her. She reluctantly broke away from his kiss. 

“Condom,” she whispered, and kissed him again, then again, before reaching around to fumble for the drawer where she kept some now.

Fitz gave her the room she needed although his mouth never left her neck, not even when she turned back to him, condom in hand. He only stopped lavishing her with attention when he felt her hand close around him once more, groaning softly as Jemma gave him an experimental stroke before breaking open the foil packet and rolling it down his length. 

He met Jemma’s gaze and held it as he positioned himself at her entrance and slowly pushed forward, watching her eyes widen slightly as he eased into her. The feeling of being inside her was nearly overwhelming that Fitz needed to kiss her slowly, sinking further into the sensation, before starting the slow, steady rhythm they had enjoyed earlier. 

Jemma inhaled a slow, shaky breath as Fitz moved inside her, then bit her lip again to suppress a moan. This was more like the second round of sex they'd had that night in Dublin: not a race to the edge, but a steady existence of heat, pleasure pooling thick inside her and slowly spreading. They moved together in concert, unhurried, his slow, firm thrusts meeting each roll of her hips to hit that perfect spot inside her each time.

She couldn't take her eyes off of him. Her instinct was to let them close, to tip her head back and arch her body into him as he took her, but there was something intensely intimate about keeping eye contact with him as he thrust into her, and she wanted to keep that, to hopefully let it feed back into his own pleasure. 

She gasped at a particularly delicious thrust, and hooked her ankles around the back of his thighs, drawing her knees up to change the angle just so. It was perfect, and the continued slow rhythm between them made pleasure blossom even sweeter, causing her mouth to bow in a silent moan, her lips forming his name, one of her hands slapping down to the mattress to fist in the blankets. Her eyelids fluttered, only barely able to keep her gaze on his.

Jemma wasn’t the only one who couldn’t look away, and with every one of her expressions, Fitz felt like he was falling even further in love with her if that were even possible. He’d never thought much of the idea of eyes being windows to the soul, easily writing it off as purely poetic nonsense, but he understood it now. Looking into Jemma’s eyes as they made love, Fitz could see everything she felt for him and it only made him want to please her even more. When her eyes began to flutter shut, Fitz reached out to cup her cheek and allowed his thumb to brush across it to refocus her. 

“I’ve got y’, baby girl,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” 

He ground against her on the next stroke, emphasizing his words and trying to take advantage of the angle Jemma had put them at to give her clit some extra attention. It wasn’t quite what he’d wanted though, so Fitz took his hand from Jemma’s face to slip it beneath the small of her back, pulling her closer and supporting her as he did it again. 

Fitz felt her flutter around him at that and smiled down at her, delighted that he had found another way to draw that reaction from her. He could feel the faint stirrings of his own orgasm at the base of his spine and he wanted to be sure Jemma would get hers before he slipped over the edge. He leaned down to brush his nose against hers, needing to be as close to her as possible as they both pressed closer to completion. 

Jemma’s mouth fell open at the grind of him against her clit, and then she lost her fight to keep her eyes open when he pulled her closer and did it again. She stayed that way for his next couple thrusts, lost in the increased pleasure it produced, Then she blinked her eyes back open at the touch of his nose, and she was utterly captivated again. 

His eyes inches from hers, their noses and lips brushing, the intermingling of their panting breaths, the way he held and looked at her as they made love...Jemma had never felt so precious, or wanted. She felt her thighs begin to tremble as she neared the edge, and wrapped her arms around him, holding tight as she started up a breathless, whispered chant of his name, over and over. She couldn’t stay completely silent, but she allowed herself this much.

As slow as their lovemaking was, her orgasm didn’t overtake her quickly, like it usually did. Instead it swelled up slowly, washing up and breaking over her like a gentle wave. She gasped sharply, her eyes squeezing shut as she arched up into him one last time, and clutched at him harder as her whole body shuddered, riding out the waves of her release. It seemed to go on forever, her inner muscles clenching around him and his continued thrusts prolonging her pleasure.

Fitz swore softly as he watched her, caught up in the delicate flush that trailed down her neck and over her chest and the way she pressed her entire body against him as she came. He’d never seen Jemma quite like that and it absolutely floored him to see that kind of vulnerability up close. That sense of wonder didn’t leave him as he drew out the moment, bracing his knees against the mattress for a bit more leverage. 

He wasn’t far behind Jemma, pulled along by the steady waves or her orgasm, and he buried his face in her neck as he gave a few more thrusts, using his hold to clutch her as close as he was able as he shuddered to completion. Despite the easy pace, the strain of holding himself in check had left Fitz’ muscles feeling rubbery, and it took him several long moments before he could regroup enough to move. 

Jemma had gone mostly limp, her head resting back against the pillow, her arms slack around his shoulders and the fingers of one hand combing gently, mindlessly through his hair as they both slowly came back to themselves. It was exactly the sort of release she had needed, the soporific cocktail of endorphins leaving her relaxed and loose in a way a hot shower or back massage wouldn’t have been able to do on their own. 

She took those few moments to just enjoy being with him, close, completely entwined, his weight welcome and his skin overwarm, his heartbeat pressed against hers, his lips on her shoulder, and everything about him so, so dear to her. When he finally began to move, pulling away, she unwound her legs from around him and turned her face to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Love y’, too.” Fitz caught Jemma by the back of the neck for a quick kiss, not really wanting to leave her but knowing that needing to clean up didn’t leave him much of a choice. “I’ll be right back. Get under the covers and we can actually cuddle.” He couldn’t help but smile down at her, content in a way he couldn’t quite put into words when he saw the loving expression Jemma wore. 

He heard the rustle of bedding as he binned the condom and turned back to find Jemma watching him. Fitz felt himself blush under her scrutiny. It wasn’t as though he thought she found him wanting in any way, but there certainly were things Fitz would change about himself. Add some height, a few pounds of muscle. That sort of thing. But then he caught the way Jemma’s eyes roved over him, her look plainly appreciative, and pushed those thoughts to the side. 

Fitz lifted the covers and slipped in next to Jemma, gathering her against his chest as he laid back against the pillows. Once she was settled, he pressed a kiss to Jemma’s hairline and gave her a little squeeze. 

“So. What should we do with the rest o’ our evening?”

Jemma smiled at his affection, snuggling in against him and resting her hand on his chest, soaking in the warmth of his body. “Well, I suppose we could always watch an old episode of _Who_ or one of my documentaries, or we could go out to get something to eat later, though that would involve clothes…” Which didn’t sound appealing at all, as content and snuggly and limbs-heavy as she felt now. Then she huffed a tiny laugh. “You know, this might sound a bit gauche...but I think Skye would have approved.” She nodded at them and their current state of undress.

Fitz chuckled a bit in response and nodded. “She definitely would. And she’d never let us live it down, either. We’d be hearin’ about it from now until eternity, that she helped us both get laid. Nevermind that we had that pretty well handled all on our own.” 

The image of Skye, teasing them both, made Fitz smile. The entire team wanted her back, and now she was thankfully on the mend. As scared as he knew Jemma was about potential side effects from the GH-325, he couldn’t regret bringing it to her. Not if it brought their friend back to them. 

“I wouldn’t say she _helped_ us, more...inspired us,” Jemma replied, tracing a circle around Fitz’s heart. “Or perhaps Agent Triplett should get the credit?” She craned her head to look up at him, giving him a smile that could only be described as lazy and satisfied, proudly showing off the love bite he’d left low on her neck.

Fitz caught his lip between his teeth, considering whether he should at least pretend to be contrite. He ran a gentle finger over the red mark. With Jemma’s fair skin it would likely go dark by morning, meaning she’d be wearing high-collar shirts and jumpers the next few days. No, he couldn’t say he was sorry about that at all. 

“Dunno, Jemma. You’re bringin’ another man up now?” Fitz’ words were scolding, but there was no heat to them, and the loving look he gave her could leave no doubt about how happy he was. “Maybe I didn’t do a good enough job the first time around. Maybe I need t’ leave a second mark, just t’ be sure.” 

Jemma’s smile was beatific, her eyes drinking in his unapologetic expression and the love in his eyes, and adoring him for it. “You always seem so unsure of your skill at pleasing me,” she said, her face glowing happily. There was no judgment to her words, just gentle teasing. “I seem to recall this happening in Dublin, too. And you always think you need to prove yourself again.” She splayed her hand wide over the center of his chest as she tilted her chin up slightly, her smile widening even more. “And somehow, I always seem to end up benefiting quite nicely from it.”

Fitz covered Jemma’s hand with his own, holding it there over his heart as he smirked down at her. “I wouldn’t say ‘unsure.’ More like someone who’s eager t’ perfect his craft.” He leaned down to kiss her, taking his time and making sure he did it properly. His reward when he pulled back was a slightly dazed Jemma, and he knew the look he wore was unrepentantly smug. 

“Y’ see the difference?”

“Yeah,” she said, blinking up at him, and her voice was a little more breathy than she might have liked, given that she wanted to appear in control. She would be the first to admit that Fitz’s kisses were addictive, though, especially when they were deliberate and purposeful, like this one was. She swallowed. “Right. Well. And you _are_ a perfectionist.”

He’d been that way, before, seeking to learn everything about her body, and he was proving to be no different now. It made a slight shiver run through her despite how lax and loose she was, thinking of all the ways he could still choose to perfect his craft, if he so wished--and all the ways she could perfect hers.

The sudden murmur of voices out in the main cabin caught her attention, and she looked past him to her bunk door. “You did lock the door, right?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, I did.” Fitz’ eyes tracked over along with Jemma’s, his body going tense as he strained to listen. It sounded like Coulson was out there, and probably May, but he couldn’t say so with any certainty. “But it’s not like any o’ them would just come waltzin’ in without knockin’. I think we’re okay.”

He felt the tension leech out of Jemma as she went back to relaxing against his chest and Fitz began absentmindedly playing with the ends of her hair. He twirled it around a few of his fingers as his mind began to work on a larger problem he’d been considering ever since they had first gotten back together. 

“Jemma, would y’ like me t’ see about improvin’ the, uh, design o’ the bunks.” He vaguely waved his free hand around her bunk as he continued. “Extendin’ the doors, maybe, or seein’ what could be done about the walls?”

“You mean, soundproofing?” she said wryly, feeling rather than seeing her hair slip between his fingers. She sighed and settled in more against him, stifling a small yawn. “You’d think it’s something they would have thought of when they first designed the Bus, giving us what little privacy we could have here. I wonder why they didn’t bother with it. But I think it's a lovely idea.” She grinned again. “Not very subtle of us, probably, but lovely.”

Fitz smiled when Jemma called him out, but still felt a need to defend his reasoning. “It would benefit everyone, really. I mean, full doors would help make it darker in the bunks, meaning sleep would be easier t’ come by. Same could be said of soundproofin’ the walls - no more hearin’ Skye's rap or Coulson's classic rock when you're tryin’ t’ watch a movie or do research…” 

He trailed off when he saw the disbelieving look Jemma was giving him. “All right, fine,” Fitz conceded. “Forget subtle entirely. I don't need an excuse. If y’ want it, consider it done.”

Fitz watched as Jemma tried, and failed, to hide her yawn by ducking against him. He couldn't blame her. After their earlier activities he was feeling just worn out; sleep would be very appreciated. He carefully rearranged Jemma and sat up so he could attempt to reach the light switch on the far wall. It was a bust when he realized that even in the narrow confines of a bunk he'd have to get up, and Fitz grumbled the whole while. He hit the switch, plunging the bunk into darkness, and crawled back into bed. Fitz waited for Jemma to settle into her preferred position before curling up behind her, his arm snug around her waist. 

“And while I'm at it, remind me t’ look into programmin’ the lights and things t’ our mobiles. I'm not gettin’ out of bed any more than I have t’.”

Jemma watched with fond amusement as he grumbled his way to shut off the lights and came back to bed, then laughed softly as she settled back in against him, threading her fingers through the hand that was resting over her stomach. “I remember when you wanted to fully automate everything in our apartment,” she said. “We didn’t have the technology for it then.”

She was confident he could do it now, if he really wanted to. She chuckled again at the thought of Fitz programming his living space so that he never had to lift a finger, repurposing the D.W.A.R.F.s to fetch and bring him whatever he wanted.

“You know you’ll have to get approval for the modification,” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy. “Director Fury wasn’t too fond of our fish tank proposal.”

“Yeah, but Director Fury never had any vision anyway.” As soon as he said it Fitz realized his faux pas and ducked his face into Jemma's shoulder to hide his chuckle. “That's not how I meant it t’ sound. I just meant that I bet Coulson would approve. And that what Fury doesn't know won't hurt him.”

They drifted into a comfortable silence, each of them settling in against the other. Fitz’ mind caught on what Jemma had said about their shared apartment and held there. For the first time in a long time thinking of their shared space didn't drag up his old hurt feelings and he found that he wanted to reminisce with Jemma. 

“That apartment… I loved it, but I can't believe y’ ever agreed t’ live there.” 

It had been small and cramped, with far less natural light than either of them had hoped for, and hadn't presented well with its peeling paint and warped floors. But they'd talked the landlord into letting them make repairs and had slowly turned it into their home. 

Jemma’s eyes were closed, but she still smiled at Fitz’s gentle dig at her. “It didn’t have the double vanity sinks I wanted so we were on top of each other all the time in the bathroom, the oven hadn’t been cleaned so it caught on fire the first time I tried to use it, the floorboards creaked, and I thought the rent was far too high for what we got...but you won me over. It was in a lovely part of town, just a short bus ride from work, close to plenty of shops. But best of all, it had you.” 

She smiled again, thinking back on how excited they’d been when they’d first gotten the apartment, young and idealistic and completely in love with each other. Like Fitz, the memories didn’t hurt this time. They just tugged at her heart with a nostalgic flutter, tinted bittersweet.

“That’s all I really cared about,” she added after a moment. “That it had you.”

The apartment, for all that it had been tiny and cramped, had seemed so large and empty without him after he’d left. She never wanted to feel that aching loneliness again. 

Fitz felt his heart clench at her quiet admission and not for the first time he desperately wanted to go back and knock some sense into the younger him. There had been a million other things he could have done the night Jemma made her proposal, and somehow he'd chosen wrong all around. Thankfully they'd found their way back to each other, and the experience only made him appreciate what they had more than he'd been able to then. 

“Be honest,” he teased, “it helped that y’ liked how I looked in a tool belt, too. And y’ liked givin’ me a list of things t’ get done.” Fitz had liked that, too, for all he'd grumbled about it. The domesticity had been nice, and it had really boiled down to what he and Jemma did best: work together to improve things. The fact that they'd been working on their home had been a nice bonus. 

“Maybe, whenever we're done here, we can go hunting for a flat again.”

Fitz knew it wouldn't be any time soon - neither of them were ready to be off the Bus yet - but the idea that he and Jemma could have that to look forward to left him feeling hopeful. 

Jemma smiled again. Of course she’d liked him in a tool belt--something about it, and the old jeans and t-shirt he’d worn with it, had made him look a little rugged, a little bit more masculine, and very unlike the normal Fitz she knew, who was always well-kept in his pressed shirts, ties, and cardigans. She’d found it quite appealing. Getting to boss him around had only enhanced the experience.

But he was right. Working to carve out their own space that was uniquely _them_ , building a life together, had meant so much to her. Thinking she had forever to spend with her best friend and the love of her life had made her feel like she could take on the world.

“Of course I liked it,” she said, echoing her thoughts, and gently elbowed him. “You looked very manly and you did as I told you to do. Isn’t that a fantasy of every woman?”

But then she felt a pulse of warmth in her heart at the suggestion that they find a place together once they left the Bus. She had no idea when that would be--she had no plans to leave anytime soon--but all she knew was that wherever her future took her, she knew she wanted Fitz there. 

“I think we can afford a slightly nicer one this time around,” she said quietly, musing. It was nice to think about the possibilities, caught halfway between being awake and asleep as she was. “A little larger. With double vanity sinks. I’m putting my foot down this time.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Fitz hummed as he leaned in to place a kiss just behind Jemma’s ear. “I bet I could talk y’ around again, for the right place. And just remember, if y’ put your foot down on gettin’ a nicer flat, there’s no reason for me t’ find my tool belt again.” 

He smiled against the nape of Jemma’s neck, knowing damn well the only reason he needed to pull out his tool belt was the look Fitz knew she’d give him when he was wearing it. Some might say that made him whipped, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he had Jemma’s warm, naked weight pressed against him and the promise that wherever the future took them, it would be together. As far as Fitz was concerned, no one in their right mind would refuse their partner anything if they had a chance to have what he did with Jemma.


	15. Chapter 15

The warmth of that night lingered, even after he and Jemma dragged themselves out of bed and into their next mission. Fitz had been so excited at the prospect of meeting an Asgardian - a real, actual warrior, not a mason turned professor - that Lady Sif’s story hadn’t really sunk in. He understood the basic concept, that Lorelei set out to control men, but it didn’t feel real. 

That hadn’t happened until she’d pulled Ward under her sway and went on the run, throwing the Bus into chaos as they tried to track them. Between tracking them through Las Vegas’ traffic and security cameras and trying to repair Lorelei’s collar, Fitz had time for little else. He was engrossed in the work, wanting to free Ward and prove to Lady Sif that even a mere human could repair Asgardian metal work. It would certainly give him a hell of a story to tell Thor, if he ever got the chance to meet him. 

Fitz was just polishing the metal, imagining just what he’d say to the Prince of Asgard about his role in capturing Lorelei, when the sound of footsteps outside the lab caught his attention. 

“Jemma? I was just thinkin’ that-” Fitz looked up and froze. Ward was standing just inside the lab doors. “Ward, what- How did y’ break free? Where’s Lorelei?”

The specialist’s gaze flickered to just over Fitz’ shoulder and he whirled in place, only to come face to face with the very person they’d been hunting. He stumbled backward away from Lorelei, trying to give himself distance to run even though he knew it was hopeless. If she didn’t catch him, Ward would. 

“I heard you were looking for me,” she practically purred, inching closer to him. “Ward tells me you are a great inventor. He believes your help would be quite useful to me. Would you like to help me?”

Fitz felt an odd kind of pull toward her. Part of him very much wanted to show off just what he could invent for her, but the image of Jemma floated across his mind. He had a duty to S.H.I.E.L.D., a duty to Jemma. He couldn’t just go running off after this woman. Fitz began to shake his head no, his eyes darting between Lorelei and Ward. 

“No, no I don’t think I’m the man y’ need, y’ really should-”

It happened faster than Fitz could process, Lorelei’s hand darting out to wrap around his wrist as she smiled at him. “But I do so need your help. Are you sure?” Fitz felt his mouth working, trying to formulate a response but every protest he had just melted away. Lorelei smiled at him, leaving Fitz feeling warm and content and willing to do pretty much anything she’d ask, so long as she smiled like that once more. 

“What, uh, what did y’ need me t’ do?”

Jemma was in the med pod with Skye, helping her try to track down Ward and Lorelei, quietly simmering over the fact that Coulson wouldn’t let her do further research on Skye’s blood and the GH-325, when they felt the Bus begin to take off.

“We’re taking off. Why are we taking off?” she wondered aloud, looking up from her tablet.

“What is that pounding?” Skye asked, referring to the dull metal thuds that had just taken up, somewhere deep within the plane.

Jemma set her tablet down. “I’ll go and investigate.”

But when she went to open the pod door, it wouldn’t budge. She tried it a few more times, putting all her weight into it, but it was firmly shut. “Someone locked us in.”

And that was when she realized--the only other person on the Bus should be Fitz. Which meant that Ward and Lorelei must have come back, which meant--

Lorelei was controlling Fitz. And he had locked them in the med pod while they weren’t looking, in order to keep them from interfering with Lorelei’s plans. And now they were taking off, headed to God knows where to do God knows what.

Jemma’s heart sank, a terrible ache and fear threatening to overtake her at the thought of Fitz being controlled by that woman, his mind invaded and taken over, his thoughts laid bare. There was anger too, at the violation he and Ward were both suffering. But right now, her priority had to be Skye, who was still recovering. So she looked about for anything they could use to defend themselves, and laid a plan.

They didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, they heard a clang of metal outside the pod, and the door opened, admitting Coulson. “Where’s Simmons?” he asked.

She was ready, swinging the fire extinguisher as hard as she could at his head, but he was faster. He caught it, dodging her blow, and dropped it to the floor. Jemma, surprised, could only let out a surprised “oh!” and stammer, “Are you--you?”

“Of course I am!” Coulson cried. “Fitz has Sif trapped in the Cage, we need to unlock the door and get her out.”

When they told him that Sif had been sucked out of the airlock, he refused to believe them and ordered Skye to open the airlock again, to let her back in. Then he ordered Jemma to come with him. He had an idea to get Fitz away from the Cage door.

Which essentially amounted to using her as bait. She crept upstairs back into the main cabin of the Bus, past Ward and May (who seemed to be having a standoff), and around to the corner where the door to the Cage was. Although she knew he would be there, she was still surprised to see him--Fitz, her Fitz, looking the same as he always did. But she knew he was different now, and that he would treat her as such.

She let out a squeak at seeing him, and he looked up at her. Their eyes met. His widened.

“Simmons. Hey, you’re not supposed t’ be up here!” 

She ran at the sound of her name and Fitz took off after her, calling out to Ward for help as he went. He needed to get Simmons back into the medpod. Lorelei had wanted her in there, after all, and a happy Lorelei was exactly what Fitz wanted. Simmons was fast though, faster than he remembered her being as he dodged around the banister and flew down the stairs. Fitz tried reasoning with her, explaining what exactly Lorelei needed. She had always been logical, after all, and she would see the reason of what he was saying. 

When he saw Simmons at the bottom of the stairs, staring at him with wide eyes, Fitz felt a wild kind of hope. She understood what he was saying! He’d just ask her to get back into the medpod and everything would be all right. He smiled at her, set to do just that, when Coulson’s voice startled him. Fitz turned to ask their commanding officer to help herd Simmons to where she should be, only to be met with a fist to the face. 

Fitz felt himself hit the floor, and then everything went black. 

Jemma bit her lip and looked down at his prone form, feeling guilty despite herself. This was the second time he’d been knocked out cold with her involvement, and it hurt her heart to see him like this. However, it was the easiest, least painful way to keep him safe and from harming anyone else while under Lorelei’s sway.

“Poor thing,” she murmured. “Help me get him to the medpod, sir.”

Together, she and Coulson carried Fitz to the medpod and carefully laid him down on the floor, taking care not to bump his head. She could already see a nasty bruise forming on his cheekbone, and she winced in sympathy. Coulson hadn’t gone easy on him.

“Wow, you really decked him,” Skye observed, leaning over the side of her bed to peer at Fitz.

“Well,” Coulson said, then shrugged. “It had to be done. I’ll go see if Sif has had any luck with the choker.”

Jemma breathed a sigh of relief when they got confirmation that Sif had managed to get the choker and Lorelei and that Fitz really had been able to fix it before he’d been controlled. Then she looked at Fitz, who she was sitting on the floor next to, who was showing the first signs of stirring. She leaned over him, laying a light hand on the crown of his head.

“Hey,” she said softly. “There you are. That’s it. Slowly, now.”

Fitz hissed when he first opened his eyes and promptly squeezed them shut once more. The light hurt. Or at least he thought it did. His entire head throbbed, making it difficult to say what, exactly, was causing the pain. He took another moment before trying to open his eyes again, this time using a hand to shield in the hope he might be able to keep them open. 

Jemma slowly came into focus above him, her expression clearly concerned as she began a cursory examination. His first instinct was to lean into her touch, to take comfort from being near to her, but the guilt of what he had done kept him from doing so. He didn’t deserve Jemma’s tenderness, not after what he’d done to her and Skye. He’d been willing to do anything Lorelei had asked of him, without a second thought. The mere thought of what he could have been persuaded to do made him feel sick to his stomach and he pulled away from Jemma in response. 

“I’m okay, Jemma,” he mumbled, pulling away from her as he moved to sit up against the wall. Even that small movement made the throbbing intensify but it settled as soon as he stopped moving. From what Fitz could tell without a mirror, he would have a hell of a black eye and wounded pride, but would ultimately be okay. “Is there any paracetamol? And maybe an ice pack?”

Jemma gaped for a second, her hands held out toward him, a little thrown by the way he had immediately pulled away from her, before blinking and nodding. “Um...yes. Yes, let me fetch some for you. One moment.”

She pushed to her feet and crossed to the other side of the pod for the basic first aid kit bolted to the wall. While she rifled through its contents, Skye grinned at him from her spot on the bed.

“Coulson gave you a hell of a shiner,” she grinned, oblivious to his guilt. “I didn’t know he could throw a punch so well.”

Jemma frowned at her as she came back over to Fitz bearing two pills, an instant cold pack, and a half-empty bottle of water she’d had with her in the medpod. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind drinking after her.

“Here we are,” she said, kneeling next to him and holding out the pills and the water. While he swallowed down the pills, she scrunched the ice pack in her hands to activate the cooling agent. Then she reached out to carefully press the pack against his cheek, lightly holding his jaw with her other hand, watching him closely. “It doesn’t hurt too badly, does it?” she asked.

“I’m glad y’ find this amusin’,” Fitz groused at Skye as he took the pills and water from Jemma, swallowing them quickly. “I’d hate t’ know y’ were bored in here on bedrest.” His waspish tone didn’t seem to dissuade the hacker in the least. If anything, her grin was even wider as she turned back to the tablet in her lap. 

Jemma’s touch on his jaw was gentle, far more so than Fitz felt he deserved. He had fallen so easily, had betrayed everything he’d ever said to her without a second thought. Fitz had thought he was stronger than that where she was concerned, but he had fallen short in that regard. Again. 

He didn’t deserve her kindness. Fitz took the ice pack from Jemma none too gently and pulled away from her, all without meeting her eyes. He couldn’t stand to see the tenderness in them, or worse yet, the pity.

“I said that I’m okay,” he snapped at Jemma, feeling guilty both for what he’d done and how he was speaking to her now. Not that it stopped him any. “Y’ don’t need t’ fuss over me like that.” Needing to put some distance between them, Fitz pushed off the floor and carefully made his way out of the medpod and up to his bunk. 

Jemma sat back on her heels, surprised hurt registering on her face, and watched in shock as Fitz stood and left, her heart clenching in her chest. Then she looked up at Skye, who seemed to be just as surprised as she was.

“Okay,” Skye said slowly. “I, um...I didn’t mean to be... _mean_ , or anything. Maybe his ego got hit a little too much.”

Jemma pressed her lips down into a thin line. She had a good idea of what had him angry, and it wasn’t necessarily his ego. And while her first instinct was to go after him, to try and soothe him, she was afraid she would do more harm now than good. She sighed. 

“He’ll be fine,” she said, trying to project some cheer into her voice. “Just give him a bit of time. Let’s try to clean up around here a bit, shall we?”

She helped Skye close out all the programs she’d been running to track down Lorelei on her laptop and the tablet, then helped Coulson wrap things up with HQ. Once they had seen Lady Sif off with Lorelei and all of the loose ends had been taken care of and the Bus was back in the air, Jemma decided to check on Fitz.


	16. Chapter 16

Jemma hadn’t seen a glimpse of Fitz since he’d left the medpod, but felt--hoped--that she’d given him enough space to cool off or sort himself out. She hoped she’d read him right. Still, she hesitated outside the closed door of his bunk, the sharp tone of his voice as he’d snapped at her ringing in her ears. Taking a deep breath, she knocked quietly on the door, then folded her hands in front of her, doing her best to put a pleasant, neutral expression on her face. 

Feeling entirely unfit for human companionship, Fitz holed himself up in his bunk. At least in there he could do minimal damage. He couldn't hurt Jemma if he didn't see her, which he supposed was some small blessing. What he hadn't counted on was the fact that he wouldn't be protected from his own thoughts. 

With the room being too small to pace, Fitz was forced to sprawl over his tiny bed and let the memories of the day wash over him. What he kept going back to was how quickly and easily Lorelei had won him over, even with him wanting to resist. It hadn't mattered that Fitz wanted Jemma; the Asgardian had neatly become everything about Jemma he loved - her brilliance, her kindness, her love of discovery for its own sake - and had shifted her aside. 

And if it hurt Fitz to know what had happened, how was poor Jemma feeling? There was no one more important to him than her. He meant it every time he'd ever told her he loved her and desperately wanted a future with her. Had he ruined that for them now?

Those thoughts were interrupted by a light knock on his door, and Fitz found himself sitting up automatically. He knew that knock, although he wasn't sure if Jemma coming to visit boded well for them. Taking a deep breath, he heaved himself off the mattress and opened his door. It was a relief to see Jemma, even though he couldn't quite read her face, and the corners of his mouth curled upward automatically. 

“Hey. Come on in.”

Jemma leaned back slightly, not having expected him to open the door himself, and took him quickly in. The bruising underneath his eye looked a little darker, and the area around his eye was still a little swollen, but he looked better. She wasn’t expecting the smile, though, and it cautiously buoyed her hopes.

She stepped into his bunk, sliding the door shut behind her, then turned to face him again. She wanted to ask after him, to see how he was feeling, but he’d said he didn’t want her to fuss. So she twisted her hands a bit in front of her.

“Everything’s been sorted,” she ended up saying, still trying to stay pleasant, after a beat too long of silence. “We’ve got everything settled and--and Lady Sif has gone back to Asgard.” She very deliberately did not say Lorelei’s name. “We’re on our way to a depot right now to refuel, and Coulson has the details of our next mission. We’ll be on our way in the morning.” She paused. “Just thought you might like an update.”

“Thanks.” 

It came out no louder than a whisper, as though Fitz were afraid that he might scare her away. And in truth, he was. What was worse, he didn’t think he could blame Jemma if she wanted to walk away. 

She hadn’t though. She had come to find him, still seemed to care for him. Fitz hadn’t missed the way Jemma’s eyes took him in, lingering on the bruise that was forming, as she updated him on what was going on. He hadn’t missed the stilted way she delivered the news either, or the tension that filled his bunk as she spoke. There were a lot of things Fitz could be dense about, but Jemma Simmons wasn’t one of them. There was something she wanted to say but was dancing around. 

The problem was he couldn’t force his tongue to work either. It seemed all Fitz was capable of was looking at Jemma and wishing there was an easy way to fix it. 

“I, um.” Fitz cleared his throat and looked down at his toes before trying again. “I’m sorry, Jemma.” 

The faint hope she’d had crashed to the ground at his whisper. So he’d gone from angry to being mired in guilt, something she’d been afraid of but had hoped he could avoid. She wondered if perhaps she should have chased him upstairs after all and gotten a head start on convincing him of his innocence, whether he wanted to hear it or not. The way he looked away from her now and spoke so hesitantly threatened to fracture her heart.

A plume of anger rose in her toward Lorelei, but that wouldn’t do her any good. She had to focus on Fitz. He’d hurt her when he’d snapped at her earlier, but that didn’t matter now, either. She thought about reaching out to take his hand, but again--she was unsure. She didn’t know where he stood. All she could hear was him telling her not to fuss over him.

She swallowed, and folded her hands in front of her again. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said quietly, carefully.

Fitz had been holding it together - just barely, but he had been managing - until he heard those words come out of Jemma’s mouth. How could she say that? 

“Jemma, y’ know that’s not true.” Fitz swallowed and forced himself to meet Jemma’s eyes, scared as he was to do that. He’d been expecting her to be angry, but all he saw was pity in her eyes. That was even worse, and only served to confirm for him that he’d been in the wrong. “I couldn’t even resist-” Fitz licked his lips and swallowed, unable to finish the thought. “And I didn’t even hesitate t’ lock y’ in the medpod.” 

“It _is_ true,” she said, still quiet, but firm. “Because it wasn’t _you_ who did that. You weren’t in control of your actions. She--she _violated_ you, exploited an inherent weakness, and used that to force you to do what she wanted. There’s nothing you could have done.” She huffed a tiny laugh, though there was very little humor to it. “Not even Steve Rogers could have resisted her. No man could.”

Fitz winced at her words, or more specifically the ring of truth behind them. For most of his life, Fitz had been trying to be _better than_. Better than what his father had claimed, better than other top students in class, better than the life he’d watched his cousins get sucked into in Glasgow. After he had met Jemma, that goal had changed. She made him want to be good. To be better than better than. 

And he’d still fallen short. 

That thought left him feeling as though he’d been punched in the stomach and Fitz sucked in a sharp breath in response. Despite not feeling good enough he still wanted to be close to her. He took a half step toward Jemma, trying not to crowd her too much in the tiny space. 

“Maybe I don’t have anythin’ t’ feel sorry for, but I do, Jemma. I’m sorry.” 

She didn’t miss the way he winced, or the breath he took in, and she wondered what, exactly, she’d said wrong. She’d told him the truth, not wanting to sugarcoat it or give him empty platitudes or anything besides the complete honesty that he deserved, but now that he looked like she’d kicked him while he was down, she doubted her choice of words. And she didn’t know what to say now that wouldn’t sound horrifically patronizing, or that wouldn’t compound his guilt, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

But in the end, it was what she had to settle for. She squeezed her hand hard where the other was wrapped around it and nodded, swallowing again. “I...I accept your apology.”

Her response was so off beat, so perfectly Jemma and endearingly awkward that even in his current state Fitz couldn’t help but laugh. It was quieter and more understated than it might have been in another circumstance, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Fitz also found her words oddly reassuring. He knew that Jemma wouldn’t say something she didn’t mean. She wasn’t the type to patronize or dissemble, so her acceptance, awkward as it might be, was a genuine one. That was the only thing that gave him the courage to close the distance and reach out for her. Fitz curled a hand around Jemma’s shoulder and tugged lightly, drawing her into a hug. 

“Thanks, Jemma.” The words were whispered in her ear as he held her close. “I needed t’ hear that.” 

Jemma was thrown off by his laugh, so much so that she went a bit stiffly into his embrace, not expecting it at all. She only relaxed when his arms came around her, and she inhaled, bringing her own arms up to carefully hook over the back of his shoulders, tipping her face into the wool of his cardigan. 

“Oh,” she said, her voice small, surprised, and slightly muffled. “Right. I--I’m glad.”

Privately, she was berating herself for being silly, for being so hesitant and awkward when all he needed was reassurance and normalcy, not her anxieties getting the better of her. It was paining her not to ask, but he’d _said_ …

He’d said it in anger, before. He wasn’t angry now. Maybe he wouldn’t get angry if she asked again.

She took another deep breath, but Jemma’s voice came out rather thin and reedy. “Um--how--how are you feeling?”

Fitz cradled the back of Jemma’s head in his palm, holding her close as she relaxed into their embrace. Having her close, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his, helped ease him more. He knew himself well enough to know that he’d carry his guilt for a while, but at least knowing Jemma could forgive him was enough for now. 

“I’m…better. At least, better than before.” He pressed a kiss to Jemma’s temple and took a deep breath. “Ego’s a bit bruised thanks t’ Coulson’s punch, but I think I’ll live.”

Hearing Fitz say he was in better spirits, having him kiss her, even such a small one, was almost too much. Jemma’s breath left her in a whoosh and she sagged against him, feeling a ridiculous sort of relief fill her. She’d just been silly, that’s all--he wasn’t angry with her, he’d just been lashing out because he’d just woken up and it was all fresh for him.

Then shame lanced through her--she was being silly right _now_. He didn’t need her acting like this. She straightened up in his arms, clasped him a bit tighter, and took yet another deep breath, nodding against his shoulder a bit too eagerly. 

“Right,” she said with forced cheer. “Nothing a little time and attention can’t fix, yeah? You’ll be right as rain before you know it.”

There was something off about her tone, and Fitz pulled back just enough so he could see her face. He brought his hand around to palm her cheek and encouraged Jemma to meet his gaze. It was only then that Fitz realized how worried she'd been, and he felt another lance of guilt. While he may not have had control of himself when Lorelei was around, that was no excuse for how he'd snapped at Jemma after the fact. That he could, and gladly would, control for Jemma’s sake.

“Exactly.” Fitz managed to give her a genuine smile, just edging on teasing. “And I hear the doctor on this rig is top notch. Really knows her stuff, excellent bedside manner, and rumor has it that she's a looker t’ boot.” His flirting was harmless, meant to go nowhere after what had just happened, but it still felt good to get back to something approaching normalcy. Even if Fitz did have to work harder to get there. 

Even though she tried hard to hide it, Jemma had always been transparent about some things, and her anxiety was writ plainly across her face when Fitz tilted it up to look at her. But his flirtation worked: a small, hesitant smile ticked up the corners of her mouth while a fond warmth lit in her eyes. She brought a hand around and up to rest her fingertips feather-light on his cheek, just below the ring of bruising. “Is it very tender?” she asked, still quiet, but laced with concern now.

Part of Fitz wanted to be manly about it. He doubted Ward or Coulson would gripe about having a black eye. They'd just brush it off as part of the day’s work, have a drink and move on. But Fitz wasn't them, and he knew Jemma wouldn't buy it if he tried to play it off. 

“A bit. Coulson hits harder than you'd expect for a dead man.” He saw Jemma's brow knit a bit at that and turned his head a bit so he could catch her fingertips with a kiss. “I don't suppose y’ have anything t’ help it along?” 

Jemma relaxed even further when Fitz kissed her hand, feeling more set to rights, and in turn she brought both her hands up to hold his face steady as she very carefully brushed a gentle whisper of a kiss just below the bruising. “I’ve got some arnica gel in the lab,” she said, going back down flat on her feet. “I can go get it if you like.”

The idea of Jemma leaving so soon had Fitz feeling tetchy and he automatically shook his head. He regretted that little move as soon as he did it, but kept his complaining to a wince. 

“I can come with y’. I've probably been in here long enough as it is, and, I think I owe Skye an apology.” Fitz brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it, feeling ashamed as he recalled what he'd said to the hacker. “I may have snapped at her a bit.” 

Jemma bit back an instinctive response--he’d snapped at both of them--but decided not to say anything. “Alright,” she said lightly, taking a step back. “I’m sure she’s forgiven you. And she wouldn’t mind the company. She’s going mad, being stuck down there.”

She gave him a small smile before turning to open the bunk door, then led the way downstairs to the lab. She let Fitz go past her to the medpod while she searched for the arnica gel among her medical stores, then went to go join them once she had it. “Here we are,” she said, holding up the jar as she came around the corner through the pod door.

Fitz watched Jemma go before turning to Skye. He saw then that she was watching him watch Jemma, an impish smile curling her mouth, and Fitz had to fight back a groan. Maybe apologizing to Skye was the right thing to do, but that didn't mean she'd make it easy on him. 

“I uh, just wanted t’ apologize. Y’ know, for earlier.” Skye looked at him expectantly, clearly wanting more. “For snappin’ at you. I'm sorry I snapped at you.”

“Aww, Fitz. Was that so hard?” She only grinned at his scowl before continuing, “But seriously, it's all right. I'd be pretty pissed, too, if it had happened to me. Don't sweat it.”

Fitz just nodded, his attention shifting from Skye to Jemma automatically as his girlfriend came through the door, prize in hand. He heard Skye scoff and easily guessed that she was rolling her eyes. “Wow, Fitz. Way to make a girl feel special, huh?” 

“Well, you're not the one I'm tryin’ t’ make feel special, are y'?” There was no real heat to his words though, and they were further softened by Fitz playfully sticking out his tongue at Skye before turning back to Jemma. He squared up to her so she could better see his face, naturally falling into the softer expression he wore when looking at her. 

“You know, it's a good thing I have a strong stomach,” Skye countered, watching the two of them, “otherwise I might have heaved all over the floor by now.”

Jemma gave her a dry look over Fitz’s shoulder as she unscrewed the lid on the jar. “You’re not in a delicate condition anymore, Skye,” she said with just a hint of a tease, dipping her fingers into the gel. “I think you’ll be fine.”

Then she looked to Fitz and reached up to gently smooth the gel in an arc just beneath his eye, taking care not to apply too much pressure. She caught his gaze as she worked, and gave him the soft smile that she reserved only for him. Behind them, Skye rolled her eyes.

“There,” Jemma said, after she’d applied a second coat of gel. “That should help with the pain and swelling, and reduce the discoloration as well. You might not even know Coulson hit you by tomorrow.” She smiled wider and replaced the lid on the jar, then turned to the pack of antiseptic wipes she’d also brought and set on the end of the bed, pulling one out to wipe her hands with.

“Aww,” Skye said. “No badge of honor? Or, uh, dishonor? I don’t know. How does it work for this?”

The gel felt cool on his bruise, although whether by design or simply because of the difference in temperature Fitz wasn't sure. All he knew was that the coolness was pleasant and easing his discomfort, and he certainly wasn't going to complain. 

He rolled his eyes at Skye's question and very nearly stuck his tongue out at her again. Fitz resisted though and answered, “How it works is if you're lucky, your teammates forget it ever happened and leave y’ in peace.” However, one look at Skye told Fitz that would be too much to ask for in this situation. “But I'm guessin’ I'll be hearing about this for a while.”

“Nope.” Skye popped the “p” and smiled at him, not unkindly. At least that took some of the sting from it, something for which Fitz’ ego was grateful. “I was watching on the security feed. Your face when you saw Simmons was too good to simply forget.”

All Fitz could do was groan and hang his head, wondering just what would need to happen for him to live this down. 

“It was total deer in the headlights,” Skye continued, grinning. “Like the missus caught you out red-handed. Which, in a way, I guess she did.” Her tone was entirely non-judgmental, just gentle ribbing.

Jemma couldn’t help but smile slightly as she binned the antiseptic wipe she’d used. “It’s just a shame he couldn’t even feel badly about it at the time,” she said lightly. “But he’s made his apologies. Not that he has anything to apologize for.” This last was said very pointedly, her eyes making contact with Fitz’s as she said it. “At least, not while he was under Lorelei’s control.” She picked up the pack of wipes and the arnica gel. “I’m going to go store these. Do you need anything while I’m down here, Skye?”

“Yeah, some grape soda and a jumbo bag of potato chips would be great,” she said, leaning back against her pillows and crossing her arms. “I swear, I can hold them down now.”

“Not until I’ve cleared you,” Jemma said firmly, with the patience of one who has already said ‘no’ a million times, and turned to go back to the lab.

The way Jemma looked at him as she answered Skye set alarm bells off in Fitz’ head. What had he done… He could have kicked himself. He hadn't exactly been gentle with Jemma when he'd woken up on the floor of the medpod. The throb of his recent black eye and the guilt he'd felt over forgetting her so easily had made him testy. He had thought his general apology had covered it, but it couldn't hurt to say again. And to be more direct about it. 

Fitz trailed after Jemma into the lab and waited while she stored the supplies in their proper places. 

“I know I said it before, but I'm sorry. Not for Lorelei,” he rushed to add, seeing Jemma open her mouth to argue that point with him, “but for after. I could have been better.”

She looked up at him, absorbing his apology. She thought back to the sting of him pulling away from her, his curt words, and how anxious they had made her. Then she nodded and closed the drawer where she’d stored the arnica gel and the pack of wipes.

“Yes, you could have,” she said quietly, folding her hands together. “I understand that it was all very fresh in your mind and it must have been very--upsetting, to say the least, but I...was just trying to make sure you received proper medical care.”

There. That was a good way to say it, nice and composed, rather than saying she’d been worried about him, which he hadn’t wanted, and probably still didn’t. 

Jemma had gone back to the stiff posture she'd used when she came to find him, and it didn't sit well with Fitz in the least. It felt as though she was intentionally putting a wall up between them and he was struggling to understand why. After their talk in his bunk, Fitz had hoped they'd moved past this but Jemma was plainly still upset. He took a few steps closer, both needing to be nearer to her and not wanting their conversation to carry over to Skye in the medpod. 

“Jemma, I… It wasn't you tendin’ t’ me that bothered me, or Lorelei so much. I just-” Fitz swallowed heavily, gathering himself to say what he was thinking. “After what happened, I didn't understand how y’ could even look at me. And I didn't feel like I deserved t’ have you takin’ care of me.” 

“How I--” Jemma frowned at him, feeling her heart twist. “But you didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, repeating her earlier reassurance to him. “Why would I be upset with you for something that was out of your control?”

She wouldn’t deny that there was a tiny part of her, an emotional, irrational part, that had wondered why Fitz’s love for her hadn’t been enough to withstand Lorelei’s control, to override it and set him free. That had been the jealous part of her that hated the thought of the man she loved having his head turned. But the logical, stronger part of her knew that there was nothing he could have done, and that wishing would only breed resentment where there needn’t be any. Fitz was a victim, and she wouldn’t hold him accountable for the things he had done and said while possessed.

“And--deserving has nothing to do with it,” she added. “I would have treated you regardless, that’s my duty as a medical professional. But you _did_ deserve it.” At that, she inhaled and looked down. “You...you said you didn’t want me to make a fuss. So I’ve been trying my best not to.” She gave him a bracing smile. “I know you’ve got your pride.”

“Maybe with Skye or the others, but not with you.”

The words were out of Fitz’ mouth before he could really think about what he was saying. Jemma was right. He could be prideful, almost to the point of folly. It certainly had gotten him into trouble more than once, mouthing off to older cadets or higher ranked agents, and even with Jemma. Because it had been his pride that stopped him from begging her to reconsider ending their relationship all those years ago. 

Fitz edged closer still and reached to take Jemma’s hands in his own, marveling a bit at how well they fit there, and met her eyes. He could see her frustration with the situation, yes, but also love. And it was that love that made it possible (although not easy) for Fitz to lay his pride aside. 

“I mean it, Jemma. You’re right in that I don’t want the others t’ think I can’t handle myself. But behind closed doors, y’ can fuss all y’ want.”

Jemma looked up into his eyes, reading his sincerity, and felt her heart settle just a little bit. She did know how much his pride mattered to him; that was just part and parcel of knowing him as well as she did. That was why she hadn’t followed him upstairs earlier, and why she’d hesitated on asking after him. She didn’t want to wound him more than he already had been. And while she knew she was one of the few people--perhaps the only person--he allowed past the walls he’d carefully put up to guard himself, she also knew that sometimes he still needed to save some parts of himself for him alone. So she’d given him some space. Except in this instance, she might have read him wrong.

She sighed, looking down at their linked hands, and squeezed them, taking a tiny step forward into his space. She knew the security cameras were watching them here in the lab, so they were definitely not behind closed doors, but she was willing to risk both a small bit of intimacy and his pride for this moment.

“I was worried about you,” she murmured, looking back up at him. “Knowing you were completely in her thrall and there was nothing I could do...and being sent up as bait, not knowing how you would react to me…” She shook her head, tightening her hands around his even more.

He had only been imagining how it must have felt to know your significant other could be persuaded away from you by someone else. Fitz had thought that was the worst of what Jemma had experienced. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that she’d be fearful of how he would treat her. In truth, he had never thought to harm Jemma, not even to accomplish what Lorelei wanted, but she had no way of knowing that. The bikers she had swayed and Ward had reacted with violence and there had been nothing to demonstrate that Fitz would have reacted differently. 

Even seeing the logic behind Jemma’s thinking, it still hurt him to know she had considered that possibility. And he was more than a little upset with Coulson for letting her be put in danger like that. She was an agent, yes, but she wasn’t field certified, either. If she hadn’t been fast enough and Fitz had caught her upstairs - or worse yet, Ward hadn’t been busy with May and had caught her instead - what would Coulson have been able to do for her? 

“I’m sorry y’ went through that. I wish you hadn’t.” Fitz hated that he couldn’t say or do more, but what was done was done. All he could really do was be there for her now and try to help them both settle back into whatever they could get to pass for normal. “I think maybe a movie night is in order. Somethin’ mindless, so we can just hang out. Try t’ recalibrate a bit.” 

Jemma nodded, still squeezing his hands, and swallowed. “Are you sure you don’t want to...talk about it? To...process things through? It...that’s not an easy thing to experience, it can’t be, and I...well...I just want you to know that I’m here to listen if you need me to.” She paused. “Or we can just watch a movie, if that’s really what you’d like.”

She was willing to take him out if that’s what he truly wanted, but she also wanted to make sure he was settled in his mind too, that he wasn’t just pushing things aside for the sake of it and was letting things fester. He’d suffered a trauma that she couldn’t fully understand, and she wanted to help in any way that she could.

Fitz nibbled his lip, thinking about what Jemma had offered. He realized that the healthy thing to do would be to talk about what had happened to him, but it was just so bizarre. Even for their line of work, and that was saying something, considering what they'd seen in the past few months alone. There was also the fact that Fitz wasn't sure he wanted to put Jemma through listening to all the gory details. If living it through her perspective had hurt, how would she feel hearing about his?

 _But she offered_ , his mind whispered. Fitz knew that there was no one who could make Jemma do something she didn't want to, not when she was free to choose for herself. And the way she was looking at him, her eyes so full of care and concern, made it impossible for Fitz to ignore that this would be good for him. 

“The thing is, I'm not sure where t’ even start.” Fitz glanced around the lab, taking in the glass walls and security cameras in the corners. Those decided him. He would be happy to tell Jemma, but not where they could be observed. “Would y’ mind if we went t’ my bunk t’ talk about this? It's a little, uh, open down here.” 

She gave him a small smile. “Right, of course.”

Squeezing his hands one last time, she turned to lead him out of the lab and up the spiral staircase, into the main cabin of the Bus. They passed by Ward in the lounge--Jemma gave him a somewhat awkward but sympathetic nod, sure he was dealing with his own issues regarding being controlled--and went straight to Fitz’s bunk. 


	17. Chapter 17

Once shut inside Fitz's bunk, Jemma took off her shoes and set them up against the wardrobe, then sat on the bed, making herself comfortable and waiting for Fitz to do the same. It was his choice to start talking as he wished--or not talk, if he chose that.

The easy way Jemma made herself at home in his bunk eased the knot that had formed in Fitz’ stomach. She had told him he had nothing to be sorry for, and while he believed Jemma, it was one thing to hear it and another thing entirely to see it in action. 

Fitz toed off his own shoes and made himself comfortable next to Jemma, sitting near enough to her that their hips pressed together. He carefully slipped his hand into hers, linking their fingers together as he settled in. Fitz took his time, savoring the warmth of her palm and the feeling of her next to him, using Jemma as the thing he centered himself around. 

“I’m not sure what y’ might have seen on the cameras,'' he began, speaking tentatively. Fitz didn’t want to bore Jemma with things she already knew, but it would be easier if he told her what happened from the beginning. So he did just that, telling her how Ward and Lorelei ambushed him in the lab and how he’d tried to resist. 

“But she caught me by the wrist, and that was it.” Fitz sighed and snugged his fingers around Jemma’s just a bit more. “It was like… I knew who I was. I remembered what was important t’ me. But somehow, for some reason, all that mattered t’ me was makin’ sure _she_ was happy. And bein’ the reason she was happy was even better. It was… It was almost like that thrill y’ get when you’re close t’ a breakthrough in the lab. That may be the best way t’ describe it.”

Skye had indeed brought up the security cameras from the lab on her laptop to confirm what they had feared, and they had seen Lorelei and Ward confront Fitz. It had been horrible for Jemma to watch, knowing she couldn’t do anything, and it wasn’t much easier to hear Fitz’s retelling of it. But she listened attentively, letting him squeeze her hand, and stroking her thumb over the back of his to provide reassurance.

She nodded thoughtfully when he was through. “I think I understand,” she said slowly. “On an academic level, at least. It doesn’t sound unlike the reaction you might get to a release of dopamine in the brain. In fact, if it were any other type of situation--and didn’t involve mind control, of course--it would actually be quite fascinating to study, I think.” 

Then she blanched; her love of science was getting ahead of her. She pulled Fitz’s hand into her lap, folding it between both of her own. “I don’t mean to make light of a very serious and traumatic thing that happened to you, Fitz. I just mean...there’s probably a scientific explanation behind how her control works.”

Fitz shuddered at the thought of being subjected to such testing, mostly because he couldn’t stand the idea of being back in a room with Lorelei. Simply not feeling like himself was a terrible thing, and he wasn’t certain that having a logical, scientific reason for it would help him any. But he could understand Jemma’s curiosity, her need to understand what was going on instead of chalking it all up to Sif’s explanation of “magic.” If he hadn’t been subjected to it, Fitz very well might have been right there with her. 

“I know y’ didn’t, Jemma, but I think I’ll pass all the same.” Fitz bumped his shoulder against hers and gave her a tremulous smile. “Don’t need t’ give y’ a reason t’ come after me with a blood draw kit in the name of science.”

Jemma squeezed his hand again, giving him another small smile back, and leaned into his shoulder for a brief second. “No, you don’t,” she acknowledged, “and I would never do so without your consent.”

Then she bit her lip, glancing down at her lap. She was hesitant to ask what was on her mind, because she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. But she knew a part of her would always be curious if she didn’t, that part of her that needed to know the answer to everything. So she braved looking back over at him.

“What did you think when you saw me?” she asked.

Of all the things Fitz would have thought Jemma might ask, that hadn’t been one of them. He took a shaky breath, licked his lips, and adjusted his grip on her hand. 

“Shocked. Scared, too.” Fitz closed his eyes as he remembered that moment, the panic that had filled him as soon as he realized Jemma had escaped the medpod. “Lorelei wanted outright control o’ the Bus, y’ see. Ward and I, well, we had t’ convince her that a biochemist and hacker were o’ more use t’ her alive than dead.” 

Those had been the worst moments under the enchantment. Fitz had been scared to lose Jemma, but flatout terrified of upsetting Lorelei. He’d hung in the balance for those few minutes, unwilling to participate but unable to stop it if he’d been compelled to do so. 

“So when I realized you had escaped, I thought, well I thought she might make us kill y’. I didn’t want that t’ happen.”

Jemma nodded, still looking down at her lap, processing what he’d said. She wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t quite the response she had feared, but in other ways it was also worse. She wanted to ask one more thing before she addressed everything, though she was afraid it might be pushing too far, treading on something too delicate, or coming too close to sounding like she was accusing him of something she wasn’t.

“So...it didn’t overwrite it completely, her control of you?” she asked, her voice hesitant. This time, she wasn’t brave enough to look at him. “How you feel about me?”

“No. It didn’t.”

Fitz whispered his response, afraid that speaking any louder would shatter the last bit of control he had over his emotions. The back and forth had been the most confusing part, remembering what Jemma meant to him, knowing she was important, but being unable to articulate why those things were true. 

“Maybe a better way t’ explain it is like bein’ drunk. You have a thought or feelin’ just at the edge o’ your brain, but then it disappears… Somethin’ distracts y’ and it's gone, so y’ move on t’ the next idea that catches your attention.

“But if you're askin’ if I loved her...” Fitz sighed and steeled himself to look at Jemma. He needed to see her, even if his answer would only upset her further. “The answer is no. Not like I love you.”

There was a part of Jemma that rejected the idea of being tossed aside like an old hat, forgotten about for the newest and most interesting thing, but it was easy for her to put that aside because she knew that it wasn’t the truth of things. She knew that wasn’t how Fitz really saw her, or felt about her.

When he looked at her, she turned to look at him as well, and the apprehension and pain in his eyes galvanized her. Without thinking, she leaned in to kiss him, long and sweet, one hand coming up to gently cup his jaw. She wanted it to be an affirmation to him: that she knew, that he was blameless, that she loved him. When she finally pulled back, it was only just far enough to rest her forehead against his.

“I knew you didn’t,” she whispered, her fingertips lingering at the edge of his jaw, her other hand still clutching his. “Not truly. But...it _is_ nice to hear you say it.”

Fitz whimpered when she kissed him, taken by surprise by the warmth of her lips against his own. He didn’t deserve Jemma - not her kindness or brilliance or her seemingly endless capacity for forgiveness - but for whatever reason, she wanted him. And Fitz was feeling selfish enough to not question it further than that. 

He brought his free hand up to cover Jemma’s and held it in place so he could lean further into her touch. “I’m sorry y’ even had t’ question it, and I wish it had been enough t’ resist her. But I promise, so long as I’m able, I _will_ love you.” 

Shaking with the emotion of what he was saying, Fitz pressed forward to kiss Jemma once more, sinking himself into it with his whole being. 

Pressing back into his kiss, Jemma sought to soothe him, hoping to ease any fears he had and calm his heart, and calm hers, too. She didn’t claim to be nearly as affected as he had been, but her heart had still taken a blow, in a way. When they broke for air, she let go of his hand to take his face in hers and press small, soft, quick kisses to his lips, one after the other.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in between kisses. “I’m sorry that you had to go through this.” More kisses. “I’m--I’m _angry_ that you were violated this way, and that there was nothing I could do to stop it.” Even more. “But I’m thankful that it’s over and that you’re safe. It could have been so much worse.”

Fitz found that all he could do was nod, his movement causing him to nuzzle against Jemma’s cheek as they clung to each other. The angle was off though, and made it difficult to really get his arms around her. Fitz wrapped his hands around her upper arms and tugged gently, doing his best to draw her into his lap. 

“C’mere, Jemma, please? I just want t’ hold y’ for a bit.”

Once they’d found a comfortable position, Fitz wrapped his arms around Jemma’s waist and buried his face in her shoulder. He felt surrounded, by her scent, her touch, the reassuring warmth of her, and Fitz felt his heartbeat begin to even out. Jemma had long felt like home to him, and the knowledge that she would be for the foreseeable future went a long way to easing his mind over this entire ordeal. 

Jemma had wrapped her arms around Fitz’s shoulders and rested her cheek against the top of his head, gently combing her fingers through his hair. It was a favorite and reliable go-to that she found soothing as well, letting the rhythm and the soft texture ease the ache in her heart. Fitz was okay. He was safe, and mostly unhurt, and he would recover mentally. His mind was completely his own. He hadn’t hurt anyone, thank god, so the only lasting repercussions for him would be a guilty conscience. 

“What do you need?” she whispered, after a few moments of comfortable silence. “We can still watch a movie, if that’s what you want. Whatever you need.” She dropped a kiss to his hair, squeezing her arm around his shoulders. “I love you.”

He allowed his eyes to drift shut as Jemma ran her fingers through his hair, feeling safe and calm. Things weren't ideal, but they certainly could have been much, much worse, all things considered. Fitz had Jemma, his mind and actions were his own, and with any luck a good night's sleep was around the corner. 

“You,” he answered simply, pressing into her touch with a soft sigh. “Just need you. And maybe one o’ those documentaries, just for background noise.” Fitz knew he'd likely fall asleep on her, but he didn't think Jemma would complain.

She wouldn’t complain at all; it sounded perfect. “Okay,” she replied simply, and shifted to press another kiss to his forehead. “Do you want to go get your pajamas, or would you rather not bother?” She knew he’d be perfectly fine sleeping in just his boxers if he wanted to, but thought she would leave his options open for him. “Oh! I can even go make you a sandwich, if you like. I think we still have ingredients for your favorite in the galley.”

Normally, she was fastidious to a fault and didn’t care for crumbs in her bed, but she was willing to spoil him tonight. 

With everything that had happened, Fitz hadn't even stopped to think about eating, but as soon as Jemma mentioned food his stomach gurgled. “Y’ even have some o’ the aioli?” Jemma's grin and small nod decided him, and Fitz found himself grinning back at her. “Then yes, please, since you're offerin’. I think I'm going t' shower before bed. See if that doesn't help any.”

He watched Jemma go before gathering his shower things and heading toward the tiny bathroom they all shared. It was thankfully empty and Fitz managed to scrub himself down and dry off in record time. He had been right. Showering had helped ease a bit more of day's tension from his shoulders, inching him closer to his baseline. 

Fitz could still hear Jemma moving about the galley as he cut through the common area, although he was sure she was nearly done by now. He picked up his pace and ducked into his bunk to hurriedly pull on a pair of boxers so he'd at least be somewhat decent while he ate. 

Jemma had taken her time making Fitz his sandwich, deciding to make one for herself as well while also brewing them some decaf tea. Once she was done, she took both their sandwiches and Fitz’s mug to his bunk, arriving shortly after he did.

“Here you go,” she said, setting his mug down on the shelf and handing him the plate, then brushing a kiss against his cheek. “I’ll be right back.” 

She stooped to grab her boots, then went across the cabin to her own bunk. There, she changed into a camisole and sleep shorts and brushed out her hair. A quick trip to the bathroom had her face washed and dried; then she went to the galley to fetch her own mug of tea, before going back to Fitz’s bunk and quietly shutting the door behind her. She held up a flash drive she’d brought with her, smiling. “History of the Amazon,” she said, waving it a bit. “Does that sound alright to you?”

Jemma caught him just as he took a bite of his sandwich, leaving Fitz to nod at her as he chewed his food. “Sounds perfect,” he answered as soon as he was able, although his response came out half garbled. He finished his mouthful and scooted over to make room for Jemma next to him. Setting his sandwich aside, he took the flash drive from her and got everything set up on his laptop. 

Satisfied that they’d be able to watch both while they ate and later when they stretched out, Fitz resumed his spot next to her and tucked back into his meal. “This is delicious. Thanks, Jemma.” He nudged her with his shoulder as he opened up the folder containing the video files and clicked into the first in the series. “I know this isn’t our most romantic date ever, but it’s not too shabby, what for bein’ in the field and all.” 

Sitting next to Jemma, sharing a meal while they watched a movie was a throwback to their days in their apartment. Back when they couldn’t go to bars or afford nicer restaurants and had just set up their own date night at home. Doing the same thing here, in his bunk, left him feeling more normal than he would have thought possible even a few hours ago. 

Jemma responded with a smile and another kiss to his cheek as she got settled next to him. Once she’d taken a bite of her own sandwich and washed it down with a sip of tea, she said, “Well, you know I’m not very high-maintenance. I don’t think I ask for much when it comes to my time spent with you.” She smiled at him again as the documentary got started. “This is perfect.”

After they’d both finished their sandwiches, Jemma stacked their plates on the shelf and cuddled in closer against Fitz’s side, cradling her mug in both her hands. She couldn’t help but inhale his scent, clean from the shower, and it filled her with a sense of comfort and peace, a feeling of being _home_ , that she’d never found anywhere else. She wasn’t even really focused very much on the documentary; it was one she’d seen before. Rather, she was concentrating on Fitz and the familiarity of him, the utter contentment and happiness that spending time with him like this brought her, grateful that at the end of the day, he was whole and healthy and safe.

Before she knew it, between the drone of the documentary and the warmth of Fitz’s body, she was nodding off against his shoulder, her empty tea mug going lax in her hands.

Fitz’ attention had been wandering as well, although sleep wasn’t what was on his mind. He was thinking about what, if anything, he might be able to do in the future to keep both of them safe. He began going through possible solutions, weighing each one against what Jemma would likely have to say about it, before deciding whether or not he should discard it. 

He was just beginning his second go round when Fitz felt Jemma go slack against him. He glanced down to where she was resting against his shoulder and smiled, nearly overcome with tenderness for her. Asleep like this, any trace of worry or stress she’d picked up since boarding the Bus was gone, leaving her looking very much like the girl Fitz had fallen in love with at the Academy. Setting aside his own mug, Fitz took Jemma’s from her hands and ran a gentle finger over her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open at that and he gave in to the temptation to kiss her forehead. 

“Go on and get under the covers, Jemma. I’ll be right there.”

Fitz left their mugs on top of their used plates to be cleared in the morning and shut off the laptop. He waited for Jemma to settle into place before he shut off the lights and crawled in next to her. Winding his arms around her waist, Fitz pulled Jemma close and curled around her back. Feeling warm and content, the events of the day finally began to catch up with him. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Jemma’s neck, and with a quiet, “Love y’,” was out like a light. 

After their run-in with Lorelei, Coulson turned the team’s attention to the Clairvoyant in earnest, although it always seemed they were a step behind. They spent the better part of several weeks chasing down Deathlok sightings, but only ever seemed to arrive in time to clean up the destruction and tend to the wounded. It was frustrating, to say the least, and left every last one of them on edge. Fitz had been keeping his temper thanks to Jemma’s help, but his grip on it was tested more and more each day. 

Never was that more true than when he learned they would be picking up Agents Garrett and Triplett after their run-in with Deathlok. Space in the Bus was tight enough as it was, but now he’d have to share it with a man who seemed to care more about making eyes at Jemma than focusing on the mission. Still, Fitz would be good for Jemma’s sake, and if he was lucky, their cooperation would mean Garrett and Triplett would be out of their hair sooner rather than later. 

The search for the Clairvoyant had been wearing down on them all, and Jemma knew they would all be able to breathe so much easier once they were finally able to crack the case, solve it, and shut the mysterious man down. He’d done so much damage to ongoing S.H.I.E.L.D. operations, put so many lives at risk. The sooner they found him, the better.

And while she wasn’t too pleased that the team was being split up to pursue different aspects of the case, she did see one benefit of being left behind at the Hub while Fitz and the others chased down the newest lead on Deathlok: While she was there to present all of the knowledge they had on Deathlok and the Centipede project, she could use the Hub’s expanded laboratory facilities to run a more detailed breakdown of Skye’s blood, out from underneath Coulson’s careful watch.

Of course, Fitz wasn’t too pleased about being split up either, but she smiled as she explained her plans, even while he grumbled a little and offered to jerry-rig a hard line so they could keep in touch while he was gone. She was sure they would be reunited in no time, and then they could go over the results of the tests she’d run on Skye’s blood together.

Any further talk was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Trip, who knocked on the storeroom door frame. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

She looked up, startled and a little flustered. She didn’t quite know how to act around him in light of Garrett’s overheard comments regarding Trip’s apparent feelings regarding her. “Agent Triplett! Are you staying at the Hub as well?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Garrett’s keeping me here to help brief the teams on our most recent run-in with the cyber-soldier. Don’t mind the company, do you?” He gave her a charming smile.

Her eyes slid over to Fitz, looking for his reaction. Oh, that smile probably didn’t sit well with him at all. She just hoped he didn’t react as badly as she had with his ex several months prior.

Fitz grit his teeth as he watched Triplett, or more specifically watched the way he was watching Jemma. He knew, logically, that he had nothing to worry about. Jemma loved him and that was that, but a tiny, foolish part of Fitz wanted to make sure Triplett knew it, too. He caught Jemma’s arm just as she brushed past him and used it to turn her back toward him, pulling a surprised gasp from her. He locked eyes with her and lowered his face a fraction of an inch more. 

“You’ll be careful, yeah?” 

They were pressed close against each other in the doorway, far closer than colleagues should be, and Fitz could feel Triplett watching them. If he’d been using better judgement, he would have stopped there, their proximity and the way they were looking at each other more than enough to tell the other man what they were to each other. But Fitz couldn’t help himself. He leaned in to press a quick kiss to Jemma’s mouth, just enough to wish her well before leaving.

“I mean it, Jemma, no foolish risks. I’ll see y’ when y’ get back.” 

Fitz let her go and looked over at Triplett. The specialist’s face was impassive, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes and perhaps a bit of admiration, too, although he may have been imagining that. “Take care of her,” he told the other man, doing his best to keep his voice steady and tone firm. 

Fitz had a feeling he’d pay for that comment - Jemma certainly was capable of taking care of herself - but with everything going on with the Clairvoyant and the politics in play at the Hub, he’d feel better knowing someone with combat experience was with her. 

Jemma had to fight down an eyeroll and an irritated huff, and instead forced herself to smile at Fitz before she and Trip turned to leave. Of course she’d be careful--what chance was there of her getting into anything dangerous at the Hub? If anything she should have been telling _him_ to be safe. And she didn’t need a babysitter. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. But she knew he was only saying it because Trip was there. He was just peacocking, showing off, whatever. She would have to remind him that it wasn’t necessary when he got back.

She could feel Trip’s eyes on her as they walked through the lab and down the cargo bay ramp. “So, you and Agent Fitz, huh?” he asked with feigned casualness.

Jemma nodded, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Damn,” he said. “And here I was hoping maybe you and I could get to know each other a little better on this mission.”

“Oh, is that right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Well, he certainly wasn’t beating around the bush. “You do know that with us being assigned to separate field units, the chances of any type of relationship ever working out in the long-term would be slim to none.”

Trip laughed, smiling. “I wasn’t saying anything about anything long-term, not yet. Maybe just something casual and fun, you know? I thought we clicked well, working together.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile; he really was charming. “I’m flattered, but I’m very happy with Fitz, thank you.”

“Right.” Trip nodded. “Can’t hate. And you’re not worried about Section 17?”

She shook her head. “No. We’ve made it clear to Agent Coulson that it won’t affect our work or the team, and he trusts us. And I would very much appreciate your discretion as well, Agent Triplett.” She gave him a very pointed look.

He held up his hands in defense before standing aside to let her go through the door leading out of the Hub’s hangar. “You don’t have to worry about me, Agent Simmons. My lips are sealed.”

Fitz watched them go, wishing for all the world that he was going with Jemma, too. With everything going mad all around them, he very much wanted to cling to the one person he knew he could trust to be constant, but that wasn’t possible. They each had jobs to do, and they’d promised Coulson that they wouldn’t let their personal relationship interfere with the work. Fitz would make good on that promise, even though he did much like it in the moment. Heaving a sigh, he went to fetch the Golden Retrievers and meet the rest of the team assigned to help track and capture Nash. 

What should have been a routine mission turned out to be anything but. They had found Thomas Nash, but the man was nothing like what Fitz had expected. An even greater shock was watching Grant Ward, the consummate specialist, ignore a direct order to capture the suspect and shoot the man directly between the eyes. That had put a damper on things, and the mood as they drove back to the Bus - Ward in cuffs in the prisoner transport van - was dour to say the least. 

All Fitz wanted to do was call Jemma. He needed to hear her voice, just to know she was okay, and knew that discussing whatever findings she’d made at the Hub would take his mind off things. He stored the equipment and then did his best to inconspicuously tuck himself into the communications closet so he could give her a call. Fitz’ patch job had worked, and for a few glorious minutes he heard Jemma’s voice - staticky and cut out, but there. He tried to keep her on the line as he looked into what was interfering with their call, only to have her cut out as he discovered the other cable tapped into the Bus’ hardline. 

He felt his stomach sink when he saw it. There was only one reason to have a secured line like that: someone on the Bus wanted to have a private conversation. He traced it up to the cockpit, dread creeping over him. Melinda May had an encrypted hardline, complete with a thumb scanner. Fitz was trying to process that information as fast as his brilliant mind was able when May herself walked in, scaring the hell out of him. 

Somehow, he managed to make his excuses and get out of the cockpit, but his dread had now become panic. He needed to tell someone, and without Jemma there the only other person he could think to bring it to was Skye. It all came out in a rush, and Fitz knew it was as bad as he’d feared when he saw Skye’s face. He ran to cut the line, only to be chased down by May. By some miracle he managed to avoid being shot, but it was a narrow thing. 

Fitz stared at May through the lab doors, the remains of two ICER rounds smeared across the ballistic glass. He struggled to understand how Melinda May - the Cavalry, one of S.H.I.E.L.D. 's heroes, could do such a thing, but he was interrupted when the Bus suddenly jolted and reversed course in midair. 

Things rapidly spun out of control from there. On top of watching Coulson and May go back and forth over what she was doing with a secret, encrypted hardline, Garrett called in to report he was being chased by their own drones. Fitz watched in shock as Coulson pumped an ICER into May and ordered him to get their weapons systems up and running. For the next 20 adrenaline fueled minutes, Fitz wasn’t able to think. He just did as Coulson asked and watched as his commanding officer took out not one, but two S.H.I.E.L.D. drones. 

But the worst blow was when Skye decoded the messages tucked between S.H.I.E.L.D.’s signals. _Hail Hydra_. They were back, embedded in their own agency and ready to go back on the offensive. Fitz felt sick, barely paying attention to what Garrett and Coulson were discussing. Jemma was at the Hub. She was at the Hub, surrounded by Hydra sleeper agents, and likely relying on a man they barely knew. 

Fitz needed to get to her, hell, high water, and Hydra be damned. 


	18. Chapter 18

Meanwhile, things on Jemma’s end were very much not good.

Having presented her knowledge on the Deathlok program to the team assembled at the Hub, she was trying her best to get some covert work done at Skye’s blood samples, but Trip kept getting in the way, preventing her from making any progress. She was relieved to hear from Fitz, though shocked to hear what Ward had done, but she was distracted by the sound of heavy footfalls out in the corridor. She looked up just in time to see a squad of Ops agents in tac gear run by with their rifles out. Confused, she commented on it to Fitz, but just then, the line went dead.

And that was when everything had gone to hell.

The sound of angry shouts and gunfire had sounded from further down the corridor, making her gasp and drop the phone. Trip, who had been on the other side of the room, had immediately rushed to the door, looking quickly out before shutting and bolting the door.

“What’s happening?” she hissed, picking up the receiver to the phone and trying it again. The line was still dead; her connection to Fitz was gone.

“I don’t know,” Trip said, pressing his ear to the door. “Keep your voice down.”

The next several hours were agonizing. They could hear more gunfire, more shouts, the sound of people running, but they were left alone. Trip reasoned that with them being in a little-used computer lab, they could escape detection for a little while. He figured some type of terrorist takeover attempt was happening. But without knowing exactly what was going on, and being without her team, Jemma was terrified. And she didn’t know if she could trust Trip. Not even him giving her his pocketknife helped much, though it did speak to his character.

It was Victoria Hand, flanked by a few other agents, who eventually found them. When she informed them that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been taken over by Hydra from within, Jemma didn’t want to believe her. But the other woman was serious, and was willing to go to deadly lengths to prove it and have Jemma and Trip prove their own loyalty. Dozens, if not hundreds, had already died around the world during the takeover, Hand said. They were now part of a small bastion that was holding out, determined to keep their ground and save what was left of their organization.

 _Fitz_. All Jemma could think about was Fitz, and the rest of her team, and hoped that by being out in the field, they’d escaped the bloodbath and that she could be reunited with them soon. Perhaps it was irrational, but all she wanted then was Fitz and the safety and reassurance of being in his arms, grounded by his presence.

But then Hand said that she’d rerouted the Bus to return to the Hub, that _Coulson_ of all people was the Clairvoyant, and that she’d ordered the entire team to be shot on sight once they’d arrived. Jemma was beyond stunned. There was absolutely no way that Coulson, a man who had lived and died for S.H.I.E.L.D., was the Clairvoyant, she argued, and she couldn’t have the team killed. They were innocent! That would mean Fitz, and Skye--

She begged. She argued. She got angry. She yelled. But Hand refused to listen, convinced that she was right and that the agency had to fight dirty in order to survive. Jemma felt helpless, powerless to help her friends and the love of her life, and was forced to listen over the radio as they were tracked through the base once they finally landed and subsequently went missing.

But it only got worse from there.

When it was revealed that it was Garrett, in fact, who was the Clairvoyant, Jemma felt as if all the breath had been sucked from her lungs. Fitz was in there with him. Fitz, and Coulson, and May--they were all in there with Garrett along with several agents loyal to Hydra, who had just murdered other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in cold blood. All she could do was listen as she heard Fitz--her brave, beautiful Fitz--tell Garrett that he would pay for what he had done. And then continue to listen in horror as Garrett threatened him, telling him exactly what would happen to him if he refused to cooperate under Hydra rule. And then she heard the sounds of all hell breaking loose.

Hand ordered all the Ops agents with her to run to the team’s location as fast as they could, and Jemma followed them, not even caring if she was authorized to go or not. She wouldn’t let anything keep her from Fitz. If anything happened to him, if Garrett touched a hair on his head, if he got injured in the crossfire, well...she might not be responsible for her actions after that.

Just as they reached the double doors to the room where the fight was taking place, she heard three gunshots, one right after the other, and her heart jumped into her throat. The Ops agents burst through, their rifles raised, ordering everyone to put their hands up. Unthinking, Jemma raced ahead of Hand to the door, frantically looking for any sign of Fitz. She saw Coulson first, near the door, a cut streaming from a gash on his arm. But her eyes went straight past him to--there he was, just standing up from underneath a desk, his arms raised and his eyes wide.

A rush of relief so strong it made her head dizzy and her eyes swim ran through her, and Jemma bolted for him, throwing her arms around his neck with a sob as she crashed against him, uncaring who saw them. 

Fitz clung to Jemma, his eyes shut as he buried his face in her neck. He was in very real danger of losing his composure and breaking down in front of the entire room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had Jemma back. That was all that mattered, and he pressed a hard kiss to her cheek before pulling back to check her over. Fitz ran his hands over her arms as his eyes scanned her, until he was satisfied she wasn’t hurt. As soon as he saw that, he pulled her into another bone-crushing hug. 

“Chris’, Jemma. I- I-” Fitz’ words failed him, so he defaulted to what he knew best: he held Jemma as close as he was able and tried to calm his racing heart. 

Jemma held him back just as tightly, tears pricking at her eyes as she tried to keep herself from outright crying from relief. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” she breathed, one hand twisting into the back of his jacket while the other cradled the back of his head. “Oh, Fitz. I heard gunshots and I heard what _he_ said to you and I was so afraid--” She stopped, unable to put words to what she had feared, and turned her face into his neck, letting out a shuddering breath.

Dimly, she was aware of movement somewhere behind them--people talking, orders being given, the snick of handcuffs--and realized they would likely be needed soon, but for right now, this moment was theirs.

Fitz didn’t need Jemma to finish her thought. He was certain that her fears were the same ones he’d had on the Bus, realizing that she was essentially alone in the Hub and potentially surrounded by Hydra sleepers. Fitz had visions of all the things that could have befallen her, each one worse than the last. He never thought he’d ever think it, but he found himself thanking his lucky stars that Triplett had been with Jemma. 

He brought one of his hands between them to tilt Jemma’s chin upward and capture her lips in a kiss. It was nowhere near as brief as it should have been, given the fact that they were surrounded by senior agents, but Fitz didn’t care. They were alive and well, and if all Hand or any of the others could think to worry about at a time like this was Section 17, they could just sod off. 

Eventually, Fitz found the will to pull away from Jemma, although he did make a point to keep a hold of her hand. “C’mon, Jemma. Let’s go see what they need us t’ do.” As far as he was concerned the sooner they got their work out of the way the sooner they could get the hell out of the Hub. They picked their way through the room toward Coulson, and Fitz struggled to not wonder how many of his former colleagues had been claimed in the slaughter. 

Jemma pressed hard into the kiss Fitz gave her, needing that contact, also uncaring that they were out in the open. Now was not a time to go by the book. The book barely even existed anymore.

She only let go of Fitz’s hand when she was given a first aid kit with which to patch up Coulson’s arm. After that, she went right back to Fitz’s side and stayed there, clutching his hand again and pressed into his side, as they were reunited with Skye and Ward, and as Garrett was escorted to the hangar, to board a quinjet to be taken to the Fridge. Victoria Hand would personally oversee the transfer, and Ward volunteered to go with her.

That left the rest of them to go back to the Bus. Coulson ordered Skye to try and fix the plane’s firmware systems, while Fitz and Jemma were told to gather a crew and repair the physical damage done. They worked for a few hours, sweeping up the broken glass in the main cabin, sealing the bullet holes, and getting a start at looking at the broken cargo bay door before the late hour convinced them that trying to get some rest might be advisable. 

Jemma went to her bunk--which had thankfully escaped any damage--and changed into her sleep clothes while Fitz went to his bunk to do the same, but once she was done, she sat down on her bed with a sigh. She had no idea how she would get any sleep. Her body was physically exhausted, but her mind was too keyed up, still running on adrenaline, still trying to process everything that had happened. Her entire world had been upended in less than 24 hours and she had no idea how to move forward.

Fitz was feeling just as adrift as he picked his way through what remained of the Bus. The door to his bunk had been partially shattered, likely caught by a stray bullet, and he didn’t stay in there any longer than he needed to change into a pair of pajama pants and an undershirt. There was no question about whether he’d sleep alone tonight, and Fitz made a beeline right to Jemma’s bunk. 

He knocked at the closed door to announce his presence before slipping over her threshold and locking the door behind him. Jemma looked worn down, as though she was just finally beginning to process everything that had happened to them today. Fitz couldn’t blame her. It was one thing to know logically what had happened but another entirely to see the agents who had died and to receive reports from other S.H.I.E.L.D. compounds where battles still raged on. 

“How’re y’ feelin’?” Fitz took a tentative step forward as he asked his question, not wanting to startle Jemma after the day they’d just had. 

Jemma sighed heavily before looking up at him with weary eyes, and reaching up to take his hands in hers, tugging him closer.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what to think. Our entire world has just been...shattered. The organization we’ve devoted our lives to since we were sixteen is in tatters and I just…” She shook her head. “I’m just so thankful you’re safe, Fitz. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you. To any of you.”

She stood then, meaning to pull the sheets and the blankets back on her bed so they could crawl in, but his nearness was immediately more appealing, so she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him with another sigh.

Fitz would never begrudge Jemma anything, much less a hug. He caught her against his chest and held her close, one arm coming around her back while his opposite hand cupped the back of her head. Fitz rocked them in place, using the motion to soothe them both, and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. 

The options for what Fitz would have done if something had happened to Jemma weren’t pretty, if he were being honest with himself. He’d meant what he said to Garrett when he thought Jemma was likely dead, but the fact of the matter was that he would have wound up dead long before he got that chance. Thankfully it hadn’t come to that and he could push those thoughts aside for another day. 

“Me, too,” he murmured. “It’s silly. Neither o’ us set the world on fire with our field assessments, but all I can think is that I’m glad we’re together. The world may be goin’ t’ hell, but at least I’m with you.” 

“I know.” Jemma rubbed her hand up and down his back a few times. “All I could think of while it was happening was that I just wanted you. That if you were with me, even if things were dire, then maybe it wouldn’t be as bad because at least we would be together.” She huffed a laugh. “And we said we wouldn’t let our relationship affect our work.”

But it wasn’t affecting their work, was it? It was more her being concerned for his safety in general, not prioritizing his safety over that of a mission objective. And she wasn’t worried about focus. She’d had nothing to do once the takeover had started except stand by and be a helpless observer--which had frustrated her to no end.

He chuckled along with her, one of his hands drifting lower to rub along her lower back . “Well, we always did work better together. Don’t think anyone could criticize us on that point.” Fitz pulled back so he could look Jemma in the eye for what he wanted to say next. “You have always made me better at my job, Jemma. Even if y’ were drivin’ me batty, it ultimately meant I was better than I’d been before. It was true the first time we dated, and it’s true now. And if anyone doesn’t like it, they can go hang.”

He smiled as best he could before leaning in to kiss her. It was soft and simple, simply meant to reassure them both that things were okay at the moment. That even when things went terribly wrong - which they seemed to do a lot lately - Jemma would be able to rely on him completely. If nothing else, he could at least promise her that. 

Jemma splayed her hands wide over Fitz’s back as he kissed her, soaking in the sweetness of it and letting it calm her shot nerves as much as it was able to. When he pulled back, she gave him a wan smile. “Come on,” she said, nodding toward the bed.

She got in first, lying down with her back against the bulkhead, then waited for him to get settled and comfortable before pressing in against his side, perhaps a bit closer than she might ordinarily have, snugging her arm tighter around his waist, too. She sighed as his arm came around her shoulders, and she craned her head to kiss the underside of his jaw. Then she slipped one of her feet in between his. In short, she was about as close to him as she could get without being on top of him, and it still didn’t feel close enough. Jemma just knew that she wouldn’t feel right tonight unless she was holding him as close and as tight as she could, to reassure herself that they could be okay in the face of everything that had happened.

“I have no idea how we’re expected to get any sleep,” she mumbled into his neck.

Fitz closed his eyes as he settled in, savoring the feeling of his spine relaxing into the mattress and Jemma cuddling up to him. He could feel her heart beating against his ribs and he began running his thumb over her shoulder in time with it as he allowed his mind to drift. Fitz tried to focus on Jemma as a means of silencing his mind, concentrating on the feel of the rise and fall of her chest, her breath ghosting against his neck, the warmth of her palm against his chest and the way she'd wrapped herself around him.

He just thought he'd manage it when Jemma's voice called him back, and he opened a single eye to look down at her. “It's not like we were ordered t’ sleep. There are other things we could do.” It took his brain a moment to catch up to what he'd said, and he blushed when he realized how Jemma could interpret his comment. “I mean,” he rushed to clarify, “we could talk about what happened today, if y’ wanted.”

Jemma huffed a laugh. Sex hadn’t even been on her radar. “I don’t know, Fitz,” she said. “I’m just having a difficult time processing all of this, and I have no idea where we’ll even go from here. S.H.I.E.L.D. is in pieces. It’s just...a lot to think about.” She squeezed her arm around him and pressed a lingering kiss to his neck. “My body is tired but my mind is awake. But I’m trying to wind down.”

It didn't take Fitz more than a second to decide what to do. He shifted away from Jemma and onto his side so he could encourage her to lie on her stomach. She looked at him quizzically but went along with it. Thankfully they were both slender enough to make this work. Fitz slipped his hand under her tank top and slowly ran his hand up and down her spine. 

“Y’ keep talkin’ and I'll do this. And then we'll see where that gets us.” 

Jemma smiled as she folded her arms beneath the pillow and laid her head on it, facing Fitz, and closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of his hand and the press of his fingers, sliding up and down her back. Then she cast her mind over all of the worries and uncertainties that plagued her.

“What do we do now, Fitz? We don’t have a central command anymore. Director Fury is off the grid. Coulson said he and Agent Hand may be the highest level agents left. Who do we answer to now? What do we _do_? We’re just...here. We have no orders. Do we just pick up the pieces of what’s left and try to make sense of it?” 

She sighed, then hummed as Fitz’s thumb pressed into a particularly tense muscle in her shoulder. “Do we even have a purpose anymore?” she wondered.

Fitz kept his touch light, allowing his hand to wander at will over the expanse of Jemma's back. He was listening to her though, and made sure to press a little more firmly whenever she hummed or pressed into his touch. Fitz curled into Jemma a bit more, letting his knee rest on the back of her thigh and nuzzling in against her arm. He pressed a soft kiss there as he listened to Jemma speak, his brow knitting as she began to get into the more philosophical questions. 

“Course we have a purpose.” Fitz’ answer was instant, almost instinctive. “We took an oath t’ defend people, Jemma. We're still doin’ that, despite everythin’ else. Hydra is out there, and just because S.H.I.E.L.D. fell apart, it doesn't mean that oath is invalid.” He stopped rubbing her back and instead pulled her closer to himself, opening his eyes to look at her. 

“Coulson is a good man, Jemma. I trust that he's tryin’ t’ help people who can't help themselves. I'm okay bein’ a part o’ that, even without the government's backin’.” 

Jemma nodded into the pillow and nuzzled a little more into his touch. She could feel her muscles starting to relax a little.

“I’m okay with that too, of course I am,” she said, just slightly defensive. “It’s just, operating without any authorization, on the run from the government...it’d be like we were vigilantes.”

She had lived her life by rules, organization, and structure, and having all of that wiped away had left her feeling rudderless. She wanted to cling to what scraps of normalcy she could find. Coulson was one of those things; she trusted her boss implicitly, and believed he would guide them the best he knew how, but the overall situation they had found themselves in still had her worried.

“Plus, there’s...well, there’s our families. I’m sure they’ve seen it on the news. Who knows when we’ll be able to contact them, tell them we’re alright, or even _what_ we’ll be able to tell them. My parents, at least they’ve got each other and my brother and sister, but you...you’re all your mum has.”

Fitz’ heart sank and he went stiff, his hand going still on Jemma’s back. With everything else that had been going on, he hadn’t stopped to think about what his mother may have heard or seen. He had been so worried about Jemma, about making sure she was safe after being trapped alone in the Hub, that getting word back home that he was alive and well had never occurred to him. Some son he was. 

“We’ll talk t’ Skye in the mornin’. I’m sure she’ll have a way t’ tell them we’re alright without puttin’ anyone in danger.” 

Even if she hadn’t put a plan into place, Fitz was certain that Skye, who had been hunting for her family since before they’d known her, would understand what Jemma was going through. She’d come up with some way to get word back home. And in a perfect world, maybe they would even get to go visit, once things quieted down some. 

“Maybe bein’ vigilantes won’t be so bad. I mean, it doesn’t look so bad in the comics, does it?”

Jemma opened her eyes when Fitz went stiff and, sensing she had upset him, brought one of her hands out from beneath the pillow to reach up and cup his cheek.

“You’re right, Skye can figure something out,” she said softly, stroking her thumb over his cheekbone. “It’ll be fine, I’m sure. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

She sighed again and refolded her arms back underneath the pillow with a frown. “No, I suppose it doesn’t look so bad. It just...it doesn’t feel very _me_ , does it?” She gave him a wry look. “You know how much I love rules and order. Everything is just...chaos now. I reckon it will take me awhile to adjust.”

Fitz couldn’t help but grin at Jemma’s expression, although he did plant his teeth in his bottom lip to try to keep from grinning _too_ widely. Her desire for order had been something he’d teased her about since they were students, and he couldn’t resist falling into old habits and teasing her now. 

“Dunno,” he whispered, voice going sly as he dragged a single finger down her spine. “I think I could get used t’ havin’ a superhero Jemma Simmons walkin’ around. Catsuit and all.” Fitz gave her an exaggerated eyebrow wag to let her know he was only teasing and went back to properly rubbing her back. “It’ll be chaotic, but we’re still together. All o’ us. At least that hasn’t changed.” 

Jemma gave him a look of faux unamusement, even as she suppressed a shiver at the slide of his fingers. Fitz really could be very _male_ sometimes, when he wanted to be, sometimes to her frustration, but mostly to her delight and satisfaction. She shifted to nudge him with her foot at his eyebrow waggle and let her eyes shut again, smiling.

“You’re right, we’re together,” she said. “Though...do you think Ward will be alright, taking Garrett to the Fridge? He was his S.O. You saw how he looked. This must be hitting him hard.”

“I'm surprised they let him go at all, considerin’ what happened with Nash.” Fitz spoke slowly, trying to put himself in their teammate’s shoes. Ward was tough as nails - he'd proven that time and time again - but he was showing signs of cracking. His rash decision to kill an innocent man being a prime example of that. “I would have thought Hand would've kept him in the brig. She's always been a stickler, although desperate times call for desperate measures.

“He'll come home, though.” The statement was made with far more confidence than he felt, but it seemed like Jemma might need that from him. “You've seen him in action. There's no way anyone gets the drop on Ward. He'll be okay.” 

“You’re right,” Jemma said again, and her voice cracked as a wide yawn slipped out--Fitz’s ministrations were working. “But the sooner he’s back, the better.”

She went silent for a few minutes. focusing back on the movement of Fitz’s hand again, up and down her back, up and down, the rhythm truly relaxing her now. She felt herself begin to doze off, but she didn’t want to leave him quite like this, nearly pushed off the side of the bed. 

“Something we should think about, maybe,” she said eventually, her voice thick with sleep. It was something that had been drifting on the edges of her mind, not fully considered, because she hadn’t had the time to give it the attention it deserved yet. “If things come to it...if it gets too dangerous...too much...or if we’re forced to choose between us and the work...we’ll have to think of what to do. Together.”

Fitz felt the muscles of Jemma’s back going loose beneath his palm, her breathing getting slower and deeper as she drifted toward sleep. Knowing that she was feeling better was helping him relax too, and the same heavy feeling he had when they first laid down was coming back to him. It didn’t keep him from smiling when she spoke again though, and he snuggled closer to Jemma, his mind suddenly filled with images of them hunting for a new flat together. 

“That’s easy, Jemma,” Fitz murmured, feeling sleep creep up on him. “It’ll always be you, over everythin’.”


	19. Chapter 19

The first order of business when they woke up was to finish repairs to the Bus. With the U.S. military on their tail they needed to clear out of the Hub and fast, and Fitz and Jemma were ordered to finish the electrical repairs. Triplett, left out in the cold after Garrett’s double-dealing was revealed, was tasked with assisting them, leaving Fitz feeling irked. With the sudden reappearance of Hydra, he wasn’t in the mood to try to cultivate new friendships, even with someone who had proven himself like Trip had. 

But seeing Jemma as she moved around the cargo bay gave Fitz a new perspective. If it hadn’t been for Trip, there was a good chance that she wouldn’t have survived the Hub. He kept that in mind as they worked, doing his best not to snap at the other man, and by the time they were finished, Fitz could almost say he liked Trip. He wasn’t like other specialists Fitz had met, with brains to match his brawn, and he supported Jemma when she insisted that Coulson add him to the team. 

That proved invaluable, both when they needed to staff Providence base and when they needed to hunt down Marcus Daniels. Trip had not only been able to help Jemma evacuate Audrey, but had even managed to suggest tweaks to Fitz’ pure light design that permitted the devices to pump out more energy. And when they had overloaded, it had been Trip who had helped Coulson take Daniels down while Fitz had seen to Jemma. 

His bravery and easy nature made it easy to warm up to Trip, and by the time the quinjet had landed back at Providence, the three younger agents were all chatting like they were old friends, giddy off the high of a successful mission. It all came crashing down when they realized how silent the base was, with not an agent in sight. A quick review of the security footage showed May leaving the base, followed shortly by Skye and Ward boarding the Bus hand-in-hand. 

Fitz had known something was brewing between their two friends - he and Jemma had gossiped about it at times, wondering if Ward was even capable of ignoring Section 17 - but something about the images left him feeling chilled. Skye seemed _too_ casual, was smiling a bit too widely up at Ward. Even Coulson seemed off-put by the number of things that weren’t adding up, and Jemma suggested a meal to help put everyone to rights. 

His girlfriend, brilliant as always, suggested pancakes and Fitz, who had never said no to food in his life, readily agreed. He ran off to prep the kitchen for her when one of the picture windows caught his eye. With the timezone they were in, all of the photos should have been set to their daylight settings, but one was displaying the view of a city skyline at night. Thinking it was just a matter of a quick programming fix, Fitz approached it only to discover a letter opener jammed into the frame. 

His heart began racing and a very real fear filled him as he yanked it free, allowing the proper picture of a sunrise beach scene rolled up. Fitz’ pulse spiked as he read Skye’s message, entirely disbelieving of what he was seeing. There was no way it could be true, and he opened his mouth to shout for his teammates - only to be cut off by Jemma’s scream from several rooms away. 

Jemma had turned to go to the base’s storeroom, intent on finding some pancake mix or a bag of flour to mix some up with. It didn’t take her very long to find her prize and, smiling, made to leave the storeroom and head for the kitchen. But when she went to switch off the light on her way out, she noticed what looked to be a red smear on the wall next to the doorframe. Curious, ignoring the pit of dread that formed in her stomach, she instinctively followed the line of crimson up the wall, until her gaze reached the ceiling--and she found herself staring straight into the dead, unseeing eyes of Eric Koenig.

She couldn’t stop the scream that burst out of her, dropping the bag of flour and taking two steps back as her hands flew to her mouth. She took in great gulps of air to try and keep from hyperventilating, her hands shaking and her mind racing. Koenig had been murdered and shoved up in the ceiling while they were gone, and there was only one person who could have possibly done it. Oh no. Oh _no._ She needed to find Fitz, and then they needed to get Coulson, and then--then--

She bent over at the waist, leaning her hands on her knees, and tried not to vomit. Then she heard the sound of approaching footsteps slapping quick on the cement floor, and looked up to see Fitz run in, looking wide-eyed and wild.

“Fitz!” she gasped, straightening back up and reaching for him on unsteady feet. “Agent Koenig, it’s, he’s, he’s been murdered, oh god, _look--_ ” She pointed up, to the ceiling.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

His eyes tracked upward, following the line of Jemma’s finger, and his stomach nearly revolted immediately at what he saw. It had been one thing to see a body on Jemma’s slab, clean and orderly after being prepped for autopsy. Stumbling into an actual body was quite another, and Fitz found himself trying to suck air into his lungs in a desperate bid to keep his composure. 

“Jemma, c’mere.” Fitz reached out to take her hand and yanked Jemma to him none too gently. He didn’t quit tugging until they were both out of the storage room and he could better examine her. Other than her clear shock at having found the body of Agent Koenig, Jemma seemed all right, much to his relief. Fitz wound their fingers together and clung, thankful that he could feel her press back. 

“We need t’ tell Coulson. He’ll know what needs t’ happen next.”

Jemma nodded quickly, even as she gasped, struggling to regulate her breathing, and clung tightly to his hand. “I know, I know.” She swallowed thickly. “Fitz, there’s only one person who could have done this--” 

But he was already pulling her down the hall towards the lounge, where they’d left Coulson and Trip. When they came bursting through the door the other two stood, alarmed, and became doubly so when Jemma told them what she’d found. And when Fitz added what _he’d_ found, Jemma stared in compounded horror, knowing now that her initial fear was true: Ward had killed Koenig, and Skye had left the base with him.

But why?

Coulson and Trip came with them to the storeroom first. “Aw, hell,” Trip swore, looking up at the body, his face twisting. Coulson just stared, looking defeated and grim. Jemma stayed close to Fitz while Trip crossed to the far side of the storeroom to get the ladder that was resting in the corner.

It wasn’t an enviable task, and it took some time, but Trip and Coulson got Koenig’s body down out of the ceiling, and loaded onto a backboard that Jemma produced from the base’s medical room. Fitz stayed well away from them in a corner the whole time they worked, his arms crossed and head ducked, looking extremely ill at ease on multiple fronts. Jemma couldn’t blame him. She felt sick to her stomach as well, both by the manner in which Koenig had been murdered and summarily disposed of, and by _who_ had done it. No one had come outright and said it yet, but she knew they were all thinking it.

But she had a job to do. Coulson and Trip carried Koenig’s body to the kitchen, where she’d prepped a space for him to lay on one of the butcher block countertops. Fitz followed, at a distance. Then she snapped on some sterile gloves that she’d brought from the medical room and got to work.

It didn’t take her long to conduct her examination, but she was acutely aware of the tension in the room: Coulson and Trip standing close together, their arms folded, while Fitz paced back and forth behind her. She knew he was unraveling, and knew her findings would likely push him over the edge, but she had a duty to pursue a thorough examination and give Coulson as detailed a report as she could. Koenig deserved that much.

Fitz could hear Jemma speaking, knew what conclusion the evidence was leading her to, but still refused to believe it. How could Ward - the man who had saved Jemma, who had kept him safe in Ossetia, who had been with them through _everything_ in the past 8 months - be Hydra? But then Jemma’s voice broke through his confusion, ringing clear in the nearly empty kitchen. 

“Ward did this.”

All of Fitz’ anger, fear, and frustration broke through and he exploded, slamming a baking sheet against the counter with a yell and sweeping everything off it before turning to slap his palms into the massive steel doors of the refrigerator. He felt Jemma come up behind him, her hands curling over his shoulders in a comforting gesture, but Fitz was too far gone. He threw her off without meaning to, intent on finding something - anything - else to hit.

He came to a stop against the island and hung his head as he attempted to catch his breath. Jemma caught up to him then, her palms spreading wide over his shoulders and rubbing in soothing circles. Fitz shut his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to will himself to calm down. Somehow he managed it, thanks both to Jemma’s touch and Coulson’s logical explanation of what needed to be done. They had to save Skye, and the first thing he had to do was fix the communications systems. 

Not trusting his voice, Fitz locked eyes with Coulson and gave him a curt nod before stalking out of the kitchen to get to work. Ward must have had a good reason for doing what he’d done. The sooner they could get a hold of Skye and Ward, the sooner they could clear this up. 

Jemma hurried out of the kitchen after Fitz, skipping to try and catch up with him once they were in the hall. He was walking with his shoulders hunched, his head down, and it twisted her heart. His breakdown hadn’t surprised her, but the violence and the force of it had, and she was deeply worried about him. Fitz had always had a temper, but he usually kept it tightly under control. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him lose it like this before.

“Fitz,” she called out quietly, and reached out for him once she was close enough, her hand just brushing against his elbow. She didn’t outright grab him, wary of being shoved away again, and instead wiped away a stray tear she’d missed in the kitchen. “Fitz, please.”

Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Fitz brought his hands to his hips and forced himself to slow down and stop for Jemma. He had fled the kitchen when he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, not wanting Coulson or Trip to see him cry, but Jemma was a different story. Still, he was aware that they were in a public hallway, and Fitz kept his focus on the floor even as he turned toward her. 

“He… It can’t have been Ward, Jemma.” The nervous energy he was feeling got the better of him and Fitz began bouncing in place. He hated this feeling, this uncertainty about the future, and it was only intensified by the fact Fitz had thought they’d finished with all this. “Or he had a good reason t’ do it. Maybe Koenig was the Hydra agent-” Fitz cut himself off when he glanced up, only to be met by the disbelieving look on Jemma’s face. He looked away again, scuffing his toe against the floor. 

“He’s done so much for us. I just can’t believe he’d’ve killed him for no reason. There _has_ t’ be an explanation, Jemma.”

Jemma had to fight back tears too, seeing Fitz so distraught and feeling the same emotions herself--but the difference with her was, cold logic told her there was no other alternative than what the facts had presented her. Fitz was in denial, and it was breaking her heart.

“Fitz,” she said again miserably, reaching out to catch him by the arms, trying to calm his nervous bouncing. “It’s...there’s no other explanation. Skye wouldn’t have left the message she did if it weren’t true. I...I know you don’t want to believe it, I don’t either, but...he is. Ward is Hydra.” 

Each word falling from Jemma's lips stung like salt in a wound. Fitz trusted her above anyone else and knew she'd never lie to him, but… Ward had felt like the older brother he'd always wanted. He'd helped guide him through being in the field, had joined them for game night, had worked with him to improve the ICERs time and time again. But the biggest reason was standing in front of him.

Fitz met Jemma's eyes and saw the earnestness there. He wouldn't even be looking at her if it weren't for Ward. She'd have died months ago, they both would have, if he hadn't jumped out of the Bus to get her. They wouldn't even have had a second chance at being together. How could the man who'd given him his greatest joy be capable of _this_? It simply didn't compute for Fitz. 

Knowing he'd been rougher with her than he'd meant to be in the kitchen, Fitz took a careful step into Jemma's personal space and kissed her cheek. “We'll see, Jemma.” He stepped back and nodded toward the communications room. “But first I need t’ get the lines restored. I'll get that done and then we'll go from there.” 

Jemma nodded, knowing Fitz wasn’t anywhere even close to being fine, but also knowing he was shelving his hurt and betrayal in order to focus on getting the work done in order to find Skye. She swallowed and swiped a hand across her eyes again, and turned to follow him down the hall.

Their work was interrupted, though, by the arrival of a squad of elite U.S. army special forces led by one Colonel Talbot. Coulson, Trip, Jemma, and Fitz were armed, ready to fight if need be, and there was a tense standoff, but that ended when it was revealed that Maria Hill of all people had disclosed the location of Providence base to the colonel.

They were all taken to the kitchen and grilled hard, threatened with arrest and imprisonment. It was a consequence of the vigilante life that Jemma had feared, and she _was_ afraid, but she refused to back down under Talbot’s intimidation. So did Fitz and Trip. They were running out of time to save Skye, and let him know that. Fortunately, Coulson had spent his time winning Maria Hill over to their side, and after a brief scuffle with Talbot and his soldiers, she had the team out of Providence Base and on their way to rescue Skye.

Jemma and Fitz weren’t there to witness Coulson’s daring act, but from the way Skye told them later, once she was back safe and sound with them at the cheap hotel they’d checked into--they hadn’t been able to recover the Bus--it hadn’t been too unlike Ward’s rescue of Jemma when she’d jumped out of the plane. Jemma hadn’t known Lola had flying capabilities. Fitz had taken great joy in telling the both of them exactly what the vintage car was capable of, and she was grateful for the distraction it provided him, temporarily taking his mind off the terrible turn their lives had taken.

But that didn’t last for long. Skye wandered off to go talk to Trip, and Jemma ended up taking off her boots and rolling up her jeans to dip her feet in the shallow end of the hotel’s pool in an attempt to cool off from the warm night air. Fitz joined her, and for a long time they were silent, just sitting, lost in their own thoughts. Then Fitz spoke up.

“Must be some reason why Ward did it,” he said. “Maybe they brainwashed him.”

Jemma sighed. She wished, so much, that Fitz could just accept that their friend was not who he’d said he was, that he’d played all of them and lured them into trusting him. She was still having trouble reconciling the fact that the man who had jumped out of a plane to save her life, who had had Fitz’s back in Ossetia and who had fought for Skye in Italy was also a duplicitous liar who had turned on them, but she figured that it was all just him playing his part. He’d done what he’d had to until it was time to reveal himself, and now he’d shown his true colors. She wanted Fitz to accept that. The sooner he did, the sooner he could begin to heal from the hurt and betrayal that had stemmed from it.

“Don’t know,” she murmured sadly, staring out across the hotel lights flickering across the surface of the water. “Some people are just evil.”

Jemma’s matter-of-fact declaration stunned Fitz a bit. He’d never known the excited, optimistic girl he’d met ages ago to be so practical about something like that. It was a bit chilling, and he found himself staring at her in disbelief. 

“I’d rather not believe that.”

“It’s true,” she countered. “I just assumed we’d be better at spotting it.”

The truly frightening thing was that Jemma was right. Anyone could lie, cheat, and manipulate their way into someone else’s good graces. And if they started the game early enough - and kept it up long enough - you could never see it coming. That thought bored its way into his brain, twisting around everything and muddling with all his stress and sleeplessness until the unthinkable popped out of his mouth.

“Tell me that you’re not Hydra.” His statement seemed to shock the hell out of Jemma, too, but his outlandish fear seemed far too real to stop himself now. “I know that it’s ridiculous, but I just need t’ hear y’ say it.” Fitz swallowed heavily and watched her face, needing Jemma’s reassurance that the single most important person in his life wouldn’t be about to betray him, too. 

Jemma stared at him in shock for another moment before tenderness flooded her heart. Fitz looked so afraid, so uncertain, desperate for the reassurance that at least one thing in his life would remain the same, stable and steadfast and good. And that, she could provide. She always would. It didn’t matter if his request was preposterous; she would honor it.

Leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, she looked him square in the eyes and smiled softly. “I’m not Hydra,” she said. 

Fitz exhaled the breath he’d been holding, relief flooding him at Jemma’s words. She’d never lie to him. How could he ever think that she would? Just looking at the smile she gave him told Fitz all he ever needed to know on that front. 

“Yeah, good. Good. And I- ‘Cause I’m not, either.” He rushed to get the words out, feeling it only fair to confirm his loyalty just as she had.

“Of course not.” 

He watched as Jemma sighed and turned away from him, her shoulders slumping. Fitz wondered if he hadn’t crossed a line by accusing her of being Hydra; he knew it wouldn’t sit well with him, after all. But still, he thought that if Jemma could understand why he’d asked, maybe she’d find it more forgivable. 

“Because if- if y’ ever did… I don’t know what I would do.” 

That was the truth, and the heart of the matter. If Jemma ever revealed that she’d jumped ship to Hydra… Fitz would have a hell of a conundrum on his hands. He loved her, wanted a life with her, and while he didn’t think he could ever work as a Hydra scientist, the temptation of Jemma would be one hell of a sway. 

Jemma kept her eyes steady on him, sure that the direct contact was crucial to making sure Fitz knew that she was serious, sincere, and would never let him down. “You’ll never have to find out,” she said firmly.

He nodded, and looked away after a moment, back across the pool toward the street. Jemma reached out to rest her hand on his knee, squeezing it gently in a quiet show of affection and support. Fitz needn’t worry about her. She would never be Hydra, ever. She would rather die than work for such a cruel, corrupt organization. They would get through this, eventually. The worst might be yet to come, but she had faith that eventually Coulson would see them through and they could begin to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. back to its former glory.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit content warning!

A few minutes later Trip came by to offer them some of his potato chips, which they accepted, though Jemma was saddened to note that Fitz was nowhere near as enthusiastic about the junk food as he might have otherwise normally been. She sighed to herself. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Some things took a long time to recover from, as they both well knew.

They continued to sit in companionable silence for a while until Jemma was positive their toes had turned into prunes, and Coulson and Trip had both retired to their room. Groaning, she pushed back up to her feet and stepped out of the pool, holding out a hand to help Fitz up as well. Then she picked up her boots and headed back for their room. Skye was still sitting at one of the patio tables, typing away at her laptop, as they passed.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she said, giving them a weak grin.

“We won’t,” Jemma murmured, waving at her, and pushed open the door to their room to go in.

The lights were off, so she turned on one of the lamps before setting her boots down at the foot of one of the beds with a sigh. She wasn’t sure what to do about sleepwear; all they had with them was what they’d brought in their backpacks to Providence Base, which wasn’t much. She shrugged out of her jacket, laying it over the back of the desk chair, and turned to Fitz. “I was thinking about a shower before bed,” she said quietly.

Fitz trailed after Jemma, loathe to let her too far out of his sight. He made sure the door was securely shut, taking care to leave the deadbolt open so Skye would be able to get in whenever she came to bed. He turned and pressed his back to the door, surveying the room. Fitz had thought their tiny bunks on the Bus had been bleak, nothing but gray and white and prefabricated parts, but this was somehow worse. 

It could have been the events that had led them here, but the dingy bedclothes, scuffed furniture and tiny tube television left him feeling a bit deflated. It was so far from where they’d started that it was difficult not to be reminded that jumping ship might have been a lot more pleasant. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Fitz looked up and caught Jemma’s eye and he was reminded of why he’d stayed. Her face looked just as worn as his own, and he crossed the few steps over to the desk to cup her face in his hands and give her a proper kiss. He’d wanted to do that out at the pool, but had thought better of doing it in front of the others, given their circumstances. 

“Go on, if y’ want. I can find something t’ entertain myself with out here.” Fitz doubted the 10 stations the hotel received would have anything to keep his interest, but he wouldn’t mind the background noise as he tried to settle in and make their half of the room as comfortable for them as possible. 

Jemma leaned into his kiss, savoring it, her hands coming up to circle his wrists as his lips moved gently against hers. They stayed there when he pulled away, and she looked up at him with wide, dark eyes before licking her lips.

“I was thinking maybe you could join me,” she said, even quieter, almost shy.

The room’s shower/tub combination wasn’t large by any means, but it could easily fit the both of them, and Jemma wanted, maybe even needed another small moment just for the two of them now that their lives had taken yet another turn for the even worse. Those moments were becoming harder and harder to find the more their world narrowed, and with Skye still outside for a little while, it seemed like an opportune time.

That certainly hadn’t been the response Fitz expected, but her suggestion had an instantaneous effect. He felt his pulse begin to race and swallowed hard as he looked at Jemma, his mind suddenly preoccupied by what she might look like with water streaming over her curves. He was sure the sound he made in response was nothing less than pathetic, but Fitz couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead he nodded, his nose knocking a bit against Jemma’s, and smiled.

“I think I’d like that.” 

He leaned in for another kiss, this one more heated than the first as he worked her mouth open with his own, his tongue darting out to tease against Jemma’s. Taking his hands from her face, Fitz reached down to find her hips and slowly guided them back toward the bathroom. 

Jemma sighed as Fitz kissed her, her relief turning to a heady, thicker sense of need as he deepened the kiss, and she reached up to hold his face between her hands as he backed her toward the bathroom, stroking her tongue over his and letting the thrill of being kissed this way send a sharp tingle down her spine.

Her shoulder and hip bumped up against the entrance to the bathroom and she made a small noise as she adjusted to get them both through the door, fumbling blindly to find the light switch as she continued to kiss Fitz. She flicked it on, then pulled him deeper into the room by his shirt, trusting him to close the door behind him. Skye could come back in at any moment and find the room empty, hear the shower running, know they were both in there, and draw her own conclusions, but Jemma didn’t care. They were all adults, and Skye knew they were in a relationship. As long as they were discreet, she shouldn’t begrudge them this.

Jemma ran her hands up to Fitz’s shoulders and continued to kiss him for another long, slow moment before she finally broke it, pulling back enough to smile at him, a little breathless. “I really did mean a real shower,” she said, almost impishly, and reached down to pull her shirt off over her head.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t do other things while there, though.

“Tease,” Fitz accused, although any heat behind it was sapped by the affectionate smile he wore and the eager way his eyes scanned Jemma’s newly revealed skin. Not wanting to fall behind he stripped off his own shirt before pulling her back to him. He would never tire of the feel of her skin pressed against his and Fitz leaned into it, wanting to be as close as possible. His hands skimmed from Jemma’s shoulders to the small of her back, simply for the joy of touching her, but when she shivered he did it again in the hope of provoking that same reaction. 

He leaned in as though to kiss her, but pulled back as soon as Jemma tilted her chin upward, smirking a bit at her confusion. “If y’ really want t’ just take a shower,” he explained, turning Jemma toward the tub and crowding up against her back immediately, “y’ should probably turn on the taps.”

Not that he was going to make it easier for her. With her back to him Fitz could more easily undo the clasp of her bra, and he quickly did just that. He went to work kissing her neck and shoulders as he worked the delicate garment down her arms, throwing it behind them as soon as it was free. Never one to miss an opportunity, Fitz palmed one of Jemma’s breasts while his other hand ventured down to the button of her jeans. 

Jemma hummed at the press of his bare chest against her back; she too adored the feeling of his skin on hers, and she leaned into him, her breath hitching as his lips found sensitive spots on her neck and shoulders. She was only too happy to let him take off her bra, and when he moved to cup her breast in his hand, the other slipping down to trail fingers along the waistline of her jeans, she let out a small moan that trailed off into a gasp as she remembered that she was trying to be quiet. Then she pressed her bum back against his hips, feeling where he was already going hard through the denim of his jeans, and moaned in the back of her throat again. 

She let that moment spin out, his hands and lips teasing slow, warm waves of pleasure out of her, before she remembered that she had technically wanted to seduce him, not the other way around. And she had always loved a challenge. So she forced herself to lean forward, pulling away from his lips, and twisted the taps, sending water cascading into the tub. Slightly dizzy from pleasure, she turned in Fitz’s arms to kiss him hard and fast while reaching down to undo the button and zip on his jeans. Then she pushed him back, just a little, just enough to give her some room, and dropped to her knees in front of him, hooking her fingers in the waistband of both his jeans and his boxers and pulling down.

The sight of Jemma, half nude and bent over in front of him, proved too tempting for his baser nature to ignore. Fitz curled his fingers around her hips as she fiddled with the taps, imagining everything he could do to her in this position. All he’d have to do was get her jeans and knickers down, and then… The thought alone had his cock surging against his fly, and he had resolved himself to do something about it when Jemma caught him by surprise. 

Fitz moaned, far more loudly than he’d meant to, at the sight of Jemma on her knees in front of him, tugging at his clothes and mouth inches from where he desperately wanted it. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, loud and hard enough that it left his skin tingling in anticipation of what Jemma might do next. The truth was that a bomb could have gone off in the other room and he wouldn’t have noticed. Fitz only had eyes for Jemma, and when he noticed her hair had fallen over her face, shielding her from view, he used one hand to sweep it back behind her ear and held it there, keeping his hold on loose so he wouldn’t accidentally pull and hurt her. 

“Jemma.” He hardly recognized his own voice, ladened as it was with pleading and lust. “Jemma, _please_.”

Jemma looked up at him and smiled, a small siren smile that was oh so pleased with his response. She knew exactly how she wanted to please him and it was just like this: hearing him beg, his voice coarse with need, feeling him come apart beneath her hands and mouth. It was something she could give him, something they could share together while everything else in their lives spun out of control, and she wanted to feel it--the connection that they had, base and at the root of everything they felt for each other, to know that even if everything else changed, at least they would stay the same.

She tugged his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down and prodded him to step out of them, moving them out of the way. Then she ran her hands up and down his thighs, smiling up at him again, before finally, finally, taking him in her hand. She let out a shaky breath at how hard he was, how hot his skin felt; she gave him one soft pump before she was unable to resist anymore, and she leaned in to lick up the underside of his shaft from root to tip, flushing at the way he moaned in response. She immediately did it again, slower, wanting him to feel every bit of it, then closed her mouth around his head, swirling her tongue around it and sucking gently.

Fitz fell back against the bathroom vanity with a soft moan as Jemma began to work him, her touch purposeful but not yet firm enough to really start driving him toward completion. He was tempted to get his hands in her hair, to wind those caramel tresses through his fingers and guide her in what he wanted, but the idea flew from his mind when he caught her eye. There was a spark there that stole his breath, and when Fitz realized just how much Jemma was enjoying the act simply for the fact it pleased him, he gave himself over to her and allowed his higher brain to switch off. 

He curled his fingers around the counter, using it to brace himself as his hips began to roll toward her, seeking more of the warm, wet promise of Jemma’s mouth. Fitz couldn’t help but watch her with wide, dark eyes, intent on memorizing every detail: the way her hair framed her face, the sway of her breasts as she lowered her mouth further on his cock, the way her lips stretched around him, red and wet and impossibly hot. 

“Oh, fuckin’ Chris’!” 

The curse was ground out between his teeth as his head fell back against the mirror. He had no idea what Jemma had done - something with her tongue as she sucked him just a bit more firmly - but it had caused stars to burst behind his eyes. He wanted to feel that again. Unable to help himself any longer, Fitz wrenched one of his hands off the counter and brought it down to cup Jemma’s face as gently as he was able. He brushed her hair out of the way, running a finger down her cheek until he was just cupping her jaw, trying to encourage her to repeat it without outright demanding it of her. 

Jemma hummed low in the back of her throat as Fitz groaned out his pleasure, feeling another warm flush wash through her at the knowledge of how much she was affecting him. Then she tilted her head slightly into his touch, her eyes fluttering, as she tried to make him curse again: drawing her lips up his length, laving the underside with her tongue, swirling it around the head again and tickling the slit.

She’d wanted to get him into the shower, but she was fully invested in this, and it would be cruel to stop now. Besides, Fitz needed something to brace himself against. And she wasn’t worried about the water running cold.

Jemma drew her mouth off of him with a soft _pop_ , then turned her face to press a kiss to the center of his palm. Smiling back up at him, her eyes dark with desire, she shifted a little closer--and when she took him in her mouth again, it was as far as she dared go, deep, sucking firmly as she drew back. Her hands slid around his hips to his bum, her fingers clenching in as she decisively set up a rhythm, her mouth and tongue working over him again and again, her grip encouraging him to move with her. She kept her eyes on him, desperate to see him react, to see him come undone and lose control; and she hummed again, too, as if she were enjoying a particularly delicious flavor of popsicle. She wanted Fitz to know that she enjoyed this, that she loved pleasing him this way and wanted, more than anything, to give him what _he_ wanted.

Jemma got her wish to hear him curse again as Fitz let out a low string of utterances that were fit to make saints blush. He couldn’t help himself. Without his realizing it, his girlfriend had become an absolute porn star - one that was intent on completely driving him out of his mind at that - and he was too caught up in the rush to pull back now. He wound his fingers through Jemma’s hair, the feeling of the silky strands wrapped around his digits as she sucked him off sending pleasure skittering down each and every one of his nerves . 

His hips fell into the rhythm Jemma was encouraging, lifting to meet each downstroke of her mouth and pulling back as far as she’d let him get on the counter stroke. Fitz could feel where her nails bit into the flesh of his glutes and it was the only thing that kept him from coming when she hummed that way, his balls tightening in response to the plainly lewd sound. Jemma was working him as though she wanted to devour him, and he didn’t have a single objection to that. 

Fitz felt his breathing grow even more labored as his orgasm rushed down on him, and he whined as he watched Jemma nearly pull off his cock, his very real fear leaving him terrified she’d want to stop there. His release was so close, all his muscles tensed and ready, and he wasn’t sure he could take it if she pulled away from him now. 

“Jemma, please, ‘m almost there- oh, oh, _yes_!” Fitz’ hips lifted toward her as the first wave of his orgasm crested over him, and his ability to speak deteriorated into a mess of her name and other, far more nonsensical syllables. 

Jemma lifted a hand to press flat against his lower back as she sank her mouth down on him one more time, working her tongue along his length, preparing to swallow him down. Her mind was filled with a rush of white noise, proud and pleased that she'd made him feel this way, reduced him to groans and shivers, his fingers pulling her hair just a little too tight. It was _wonderful._ She moaned, pulling him closer and sucking even harder, wanting to drive him over that last edge into bliss.

As if everything else hadn’t been enough to drive Fitz wild, it was Jemma’s moan combined with just a hint of lust-filled eyes from beneath her lashes that did him in. He wasn’t capable of forming a single cohesive thought, but there were certain things he just knew. She was gorgeous and loved him and _wanted_ him this way, and that was what was running through his head just before he fell over the edge. 

His orgasm hit him hard, leaving him with his eyes shut tight and moaning loudly as he half hunched over Jemma, shuddering with the force of it. It took Fitz several long moments to come back to himself, soothed along by the feeling of Jemma’s hands running over his hips and sides. He blinked his eyes open to look at her and was immediately struck by the way she was looking at him, a mix of love and lust and pure joy that left him just as breathless as when she’d first put her mouth on him. 

Suddenly she was too far away, and Fitz took his hands from her hair to curl around her arms and gently tugged at her. “C’mere, baby girl,” he whispered in a voice he barely recognized, hoarse as it was. As soon as she found her feet he enveloped her in a hug, half collapsing against her, feeling boneless after the frankly mind-blowing orgasm he’d just had. It was all he could do to nuzzle against her cheek, working his way to her mouth for an uncoordinated but heartfelt kiss as he finished trying to get his bearings. 

Jemma wrapped her arms around Fitz’s waist, leaning back against him and bracing his weight against the vanity counter so they wouldn't fall. When he kissed her, she poured herself into it, pressing her lips to his ardently, over and over, bringing a hand around and up to cup his jaw, stroke over his cheek, run through his hair. His bare skin against hers still felt delicious, warmed by the steam that had come out of the neglected shower. The brush of his chest over her nipples, sensitized from the pleasure she'd given him, made the dull ache between her thighs pulse.

When they finally pulled away from their kiss, Jemma smiled at him, wide and bright and full of love. “Should we see about that shower, then?” she asked, a hint of a tease in her voice, still stroking her hand over his cheekbone.

While he heard the teasing tone of her words, he hadn't missed the yearning, either, in both her voice and the way she pressed against him. Fitz stroked a hand over her waist and looked toward the ceiling, pretending to consider their options. “Well,” his hand slipped between them to undo the zip of her jeans, “that is why we came in here in the first place, yeah?” 

Fitz pushed the loose denim off Jemma's hips, taking her knickers along with them, and sighed when she stepped out of them, leaving her in all her glory. It didn't matter to him that this was their second time around; the sight of Jemma, naked and wanting him, knocked him on his arse each time, leaving him stunned that he was the one that got to see her this way. A surge of affection ran through him at the thought, and he caught Jemma up for another kiss as he pushed off the vanity. 

There was a part of him that considered turning them around and boosting Jemma onto the counter so he could get his mouth on her, but he held off. The memory of being draped over her back, with full access to her body, gave him other ideas. Ideas that he'd much prefer to enact under a stream of running water. 

“Go on, then,” he said, turning Jemma toward the shower and giving her a playful pat on the bottom. “Get in. I'm right behind y’.”

Slightly dazed by his kiss, Jemma smiled adoringly at him and hummed as he turned her, then yelped quietly at the smack to her backside. She shot him a mock scolding look over her shoulder, then pulled back the curtain and stepped into the shower.

She tested the water temperature with her hand, then adjusted the taps a little before turning around and stepping beneath the spray. The hot water felt sinfully nice pounding against her back and running over her body, and she smiled a little as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back to get all of her hair good and wet. She lifted her hands to work them through her hair, ensuring it was soaked through.

A rustle of the curtain told her Fitz had joined her, and Jemma opened her eyes to see him standing just in front of her in the small stall. She smiled even wider and planted her hands on his chest, wet and warmed from the water and steam. “This will spoil us,” she said. “Because obviously we can't do this on the Bus.”

Fitz was only half listening, his eyes transfixed on the water sluicing over Jemma’s curves, imagining his hands and mouth following that same path all the way down… He bit his lip to stifle a whimper as he imagined what he’d like to do first, only to be pulled from his reverie by the feeling of Jemma’s hand sliding over his chest. 

“Oh ye o’ little faith,” he teased, wrapping his arms around her. “What ever happened t’ ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ or the excitement o’ experimentin’ a bit?” Fitz grinned at her, although his look quickly turned heated as he leaned in to kiss her, his hands sliding down her back to find her arse once more. 

Jemma’s breath hitched at the bolt of excitement that darted down her spine at his words--Fitz’s insinuation that they might get up to no good outside of their bunks on the Bus carried a rather illicit thrill, and was a pretty flagrant abuse of their promise to Coulson to behave in exchange for not being reported on their violation of Section 17. But the way he was looking at her made it sound awfully appealing, and she was almost powerless against it.

Her arms went around his neck as he kissed her, drawing her to him, and something about the water made everything seem heightened. The way her body slicked against his as they pressed together, her skin oversensitized, the steam making the air thick around them...every move, every touch felt incredibly sensual to her. She moaned quietly against his mouth as he palmed her arse, wanting to arch into him, and swept her tongue across his lower lip to deepen the kiss..

His first instinct was to lift Jemma, to encourage her to wrap her legs around his waist and trap her against a wall to minimize the space between them, but their location put those plans on hold. Ending this little venture was not any part of Fitz’ plans, so he settled for getting his hands everywhere he could: up to caress her breast and tease her nipple, another venturing lower to tease the curls that sat at the apex of her thighs. 

Unfortunately their positioning didn’t allow Fitz the freedom of movement he’d have liked. His mind ventured back to the way they’d been positioned earlier, and he broke off their kiss in favor of coaxing Jemma to face the other way. Seeing her perplexed look, he whispered, “Trust me, I’ve got y’.” He backed them up a step to keep Jemma’s face out of the spray and encouraged her to relax back against him. 

From here he could see down her body - and more importantly reach every part of her he wanted. Fitz nuzzled against Jemma’s neck and began laying little kisses there, doing his best to keep them soft so he wouldn’t leave a mark. He didn’t always succeed though, nipping a bit more sharply than he’d intended when he felt Jemma press her hips back against him. He soothed it with his tongue and grinned against her slick skin as he brought both hands back to her breasts, watching over her shoulder as he toyed with them. 

Jemma sighed deeply as his hands came up to massage her breasts again, only adding to the pleasure thrumming along her nerves from the kisses he'd left along her neck. She closed her eyes to better focus on it, the way sparks shot straight through to her core as his thumbs flicked over her nipples, making her press her bum back against his hips even more as she took in a shuddering breath.

She desperately wished that he were still hard, that she could grind back against him and feel the slide of his cock between her folds, but she couldn't regret what she'd just given him. Instead she pressed against him even further, trusting him to hold her, and tipped her head back against his shoulder, exposing more of her neck to him. She didn't know what to do with her hands; they ended up reaching behind her, fumbling for his hips and holding him to her.

His hands teased her nipples and his lips teased her neck to the point she was dizzy with desire, and she sighed out his name on a plea. “Fitz…”

“I’m right here,” he murmured against her neck, turning to lavish the skin Jemma had exposed to him with attention. “I’ve got y’, baby girl. That’s it.” He felt Jemma go even more slack against him and felt yet another rush of affection for her. He would never get tired of knowing Jemma trusted him this way, and it only made him want to please her more. 

With that idea in mind, one of his hands left her breast, slicking over the soft skin of her belly and over her hips until his fingertips were just teasing the tops of her thighs. With a gentle nudge of his knee, Fitz encouraged her to open a bit more to him and slipped his hand between her legs. 

He teased her a bit, skimming his fingers over her labia and back to her thighs, enjoying the impatient little huff Jemma gave and the way she squirmed against him in response. He didn’t have the heart to tease her for long though, not after the way she’d blown his mind earlier, and quickly returned to slick his fingers through her folds, coming up to circle around her clit before repeating the motion. 

Jemma gasped, sucking in a sharp breath at the touch of his fingers to her most sensitive skin. She was positively aching for him, for any kind of stimulation there, really, and she found herself instinctively clenching her hands into hips hips and widening her legs just a little bit more for him, hoping he would touch her again (more, more, _more_ ).

Happy to take direction from Jemma, Fitz did as she asked, moving his fingers purposefully against her sex, needing to hear her moan thanks to something he’d done for her. He zeroed in on her clit, rubbing circles over it in time with slight movement from Jemma’s hips. Realizing she was hampered by the slick ceramic beneath their feet, Fitz made it his mission to do more for her. 

Unhappy with what he could do with only one hand, he brought his other hand into play, using one to focus on her clit while the other dipped lower to tease at her entrance. Fitz hadn’t missed the way Jemma whimpered when he’d stopped his attention to her nipples, though, and quickly found a way to keep them both happy, although the thought alone left him feeling heady with desire. 

“Touch your breasts, Jemma.” Fitz’ command was low and rough, whispered against the tender skin of Jemma’s neck. “Let me see how y’ touch yourself when I’m not there t’ do it.”

Jemma's breath was coming short and fast as Fitz teased at her clit, winding her up until it was impossible for her to stay still, her hips moving in time with him, her core throbbing with need. The press of his fingers at her entrance made her gasp, wanting to tilt her hips to push them inside her, but the loss of attention to her breasts really had been a letdown, the pleasure dropping off sharply, and she was opening her mouth to beg him to touch her again when he spoke.

“Oh _god…_ ”

She may have enjoyed bossing him around and making him beg, but Fitz being assertive enough to tell _her_ what to do was a secret turn-on for Jemma, and he had just tapped right right into it, making her moan. Having his voice pitched low and rough the way it was, his day-old stubble scratching against her throat only heightened the appeal for her. Her hands came up as if in a dream and cupped her breasts, testing their weight; then they moved to pinch and roll her nipples between her thumbs and forefinger, sometimes flicking the pad of a finger over the peaks, sometimes massaging the entire breast. It worked like magic; between that, and Fitz’s continued attention to her clit and entrance, Jemma felt her knees start to go weak.

“Like this,” she gasped, her head still lolling back against his shoulder. “God, like this.”

Watching Jemma touch herself and hearing her moan, giving herself over to the pleasure she was feeling had Fitz feeling wild with power. His eyes were riveted on her hands, memorizing the way she pinched and rolled her nipples, which touches drew the strongest reactions so he could make good use of them later. Fitz watched as a flush spread across her chest and growled, overcome with pride at having elicited that reaction from Jemma. 

Giving in to the demands of her body, Fitz redoubled his efforts, pressing as firmly as he dared against her clit while he slipped a finger inside Jemma. She was so impossibly hot and wet, pulling a deep groan from Fitz that he tried to muffle by setting his teeth against her shoulder. That wasn't enough though, not if the way her hips were desperately pressing down against his fingers was any indication, and he quickly worked another into her, wanting nothing more than to give Jemma whatever she needed. 

Jemma cried out, a little sharper than she intended, at the feeling of Fitz pushing a finger inside her, followed by another, and the bite of his teeth at her shoulder. God, she hoped it left a mark. It wasn't quite the angle she wanted but he was still able to rub his fingers against that certain rough spot inside of her that sent hot pleasure coursing through her veins, making her back arch as her legs shook and she slapped a hand against the side of the shower stall, desperate for any purchase she could get. Her other hand struggled to maintain the rhythm it had set on her breast, knowing it pleased him.

“Oh god, Fitz, _yes,_ more,” she breathed, rolling her hips down into his hands, and turned her face to press two messy, uncoordinated kisses against his ear. “Please, Fitz...so--so good…”

Fitz shut his eyes to better focus on Jemma and meeting her needs. He could feel her thighs trembling against his wrist, the lift of her chest with each gaping breath, the plump, rough patch of flesh beneath his fingers that held the key to her pleasure. He zeroed in on that, massaging it as he kissed his way along her neck, no longer bothering to be gentle. Seeing the way she reacted to him made Fitz want to mark her, potential teasing be damned. 

“Bloody gorgeous,” he whispered once his lips got to her ear. “Amazin’. That's it, baby girl, I want t’ feel you.”

Jemma bit her lip hard as she keened through another moan--so much for trying to stay quiet. She could feel herself poised right on the edge of shattering, so close...she just needed a little bit more. Still needing something to cling to, she dropped her hand from her breast and wrapped it back around his hip again, holding on as hard as she could as she ground down on his hands. She’d given up on moving with any sort of grace, rotating her own hips in small, tight circles, desperately seeking that perfect friction to send her over the edge.

In the end it was the combined press of his fingers inside her and against her clit, and his voice rough and ragged against her ear that did it for her. She cried out again as her entire body shook, her back arching against him as waves of white-hot pleasure rolled out from her center. Her head dropped back on his shoulder as her mouth bowed open as the last of her orgasm shivered through her--and then she slumped forward, gasping, on shaky legs that could barely support her.

Fitz caught her around the waist, taking on Jemma's slight weight while she tried to get her legs back under her. His first truly coherent thought was that watching her come like that had been better than sex. Well, perhaps not truly better, but there had been something about being able to see each of Jemma's reactions to him and know that he was the cause that greatly appealed to Fitz. Sex with Jemma was fantastic to be sure, but it didn't allow him to concentrate on her in quite the same way. 

Gently, not wanting to shock Jemma out of her afterglow, Fitz took his hands away from her sex and began to stroke his fingers over her thighs, hips, and waist, soothing her through the last of her aftershocks. He could see a few red marks on her neck and shoulder, and Fitz kissed those while he was at it. They'd likely turn dark by morning, but he didn't think either of them would mind much. 

Judging when she was back to herself, Fitz carefully set Jemma back on her own two feet and nudged her more fully under the running water. By some miracle it was still warm, although they had certainly stretched the water heater to it's limit and had to move quickly. Fitz reached for the tiny bar of hotel soap and held it out where Jemma could see. 

“Y’ did say y’ wanted a proper shower. Stand still so I can get your back.” 

Jemma kept her eyes closed while Fitz eased her through the afterglow, enjoying the feeling of his hands smoothing over her skin in the warm heat of the shower. It was awfully tempting to let him take her full weight and nod off, so great was her peace, but the shower was definitely not the place for that.

Once she was feeling more steady on her legs--though they still felt a bit rubbery--she smiled back at him as he prodded her beneath the water. She stretched to reach the hotel shampoo first, and squeezed a little into her palm before straightening back up. “I can do my hair while you get my back,” she murmured.

She kept her head out of the spray while she lathered up her hair and Fitz ran over her back with a washcloth. The texture of the terrycloth was a contrast to the smoothness of his hands, and she smiled again a bit to herself as he made sure to cover every bit of her back, from her shoulders down to the flare of her hips. 

Then she stepped fully under the water to rinse her hair, combing her fingers through it to make sure all the suds washed out. When she was through, she turned around to face Fitz and picked up the shampoo bottle again. “Your turn?” she asked.

Fitz didn't think Jemma realized she was doing it, but she hummed with each pass of the washcloth over her back. The purely happy sound made him do it again and again, far more often than he’d actually needed to scrub her back clean. It was a different kind of intimacy, being able to take care of each other this way, one that they hadn’t been able to indulge in while living on the Bus. If there was one silver lining to living on the run, this was it, and Fitz was happy to get as much of it as he could. 

He nodded and grinned when she held up the shampoo bottle, ducking his head beneath the water just long enough to saturate his curls. He pulled back but kept his head ducked so Jemma could reach his scalp. One of his favorite things was Jemma getting her hands in his hair, and he certainly wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for it now. 

Jemma was more than happy to oblige. She squeezed a little more shampoo into her palm, leaving enough behind for Skye to use later, then rubbed her hands together before working them into Fitz’s hair. She scratched her nails briskly over his scalp, knowing how much he liked it, until she’d gotten a nice foam going. She smiled at him as she ran her fingers along the sides of his head, over his ears, up over the crown, and then down around the back to the nape of his neck, making sure to scratch extra gently there.

When she was done, she ducked down to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, then took him by the arms to edge past him so he could switch places with her, taking her spot fully beneath the stream of water. “You rinse, I’ll scrub,” she said, picking up the washcloth and flicking it at him.

While he got started doing that, Jemma took the washcloth and the soap and set about washing his chest and stomach. It _was_ nice, domestic in a way she wasn’t used to anymore, and it left her with a feeling of peace she hadn’t expected after the chaos that had taken over their lives. She didn’t expect it to last very long, but she was going to cling to it with all she had, for as long as she could.

They took their time, taking turns lathering each other up and rinsing off until they had scrubbed away the grime of the day. The water had gone tepid by the time Fitz had cut the taps so they could get out, and he felt a brief flare of guilt that they had left Skye with nothing but cold water. Hopefully she wouldn't want a shower until the morning. 

Fitz reached out and snagged towels, passing one to Jemma before stepping out of the stall himself to begin drying off. Without the water running the room began to cool rapidly, and they both made quick work if it. Fitz did his best to keep his eyes off Jemma, not needing to be any more distracted than they'd been already, but it was a hard thing to accomplish. 

He wrapped his towel around his waist and peeked his head out of the bathroom, looking for any sign of Skye. The room was quiet, with the only sound being what came from the air conditioning unit on the wall. “I think we're in the clear,” he told Jemma as he stepped off the tile and onto the carpet, “but we should probably hurry, just t’ be safe.” 

Jemma worked quickly to towel herself off, though she wasn’t above sneaking peeks at her (in her opinion) nicely-formed boyfriend, especially once he wrapped his towel around his waist and stepped out into the bedroom.

“Good thinking,” she replied softly. She’d wrapped her towel around her chest; it wasn’t very large, and it just barely covered her bum, skimming the tops of her thighs. She tiptoed past Fitz to make for her backpack. Some creative bending and kneeling, just in case Skye _did_ come in, let Jemma search through her backpack to pick out the one clean pair of underwear she’d packed, along with one long-sleeved shirt. It was something she could wear tomorrow, and the closest approximation she had for sleepwear; it involved going around the room in her knickers, but it would have to do. Standing back up, she took her clothes and went back to the bathroom, pressing a light hand to Fitz’s back as she passed him by.

Inside, she dropped her towel to quickly put her clean clothes on, forgoing her bra; then she buffed a little more water off her hair before hanging the towel up to dry. Taking up the comb she’d left on the vanity earlier in the day, she brushed out the tangles until it was straight. When she was done, she went back out into the bedroom.


	21. Chapter 21

Jemma had just pulled back the blankets on the bed she’d deemed hers and Fitz’s and climbed in, sitting up against the pillows and intent on watching a little bit of mindless television to wind down, when the outer door cracked open and the top of Skye’s head peeked in. “Is it safe to come in now?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Fitz answered, a blush rising on his cheeks as he finished pulling his undershirt on, “it’s safe.” 

Feeling a bit uncomfortable standing there in just his boxers and a t-shirt, Fitz turned back into the bathroom to buy himself a few minutes. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed about what they’d done; rather, he felt awkward about flaunting their relationship in front of Skye. He at least had Jemma, even with the world falling apart around them, while the person Skye would likely turn to was at the heart of all their troubles. 

He could hear Skye and Jemma chatting over the low murmur of the television from the other room and quickly hung up his towel so he could join them. He gave Skye a quick smile before he climbed into bed next to Jemma, settling with his back against the headboard. He snaked a hand out to run his fingers along Jemma’s hip and waited for a lull in the conversation.

Jemma watched Fitz retreat into the bathroom with a fond smile; she was of the impression at least that he was just embarrassed, and found it frankly adorable. He was technically more covered than she was at the moment.

“Great,” Skye said, pushing the door open wider and coming fully into the room just as Fitz disappeared into the bathroom. “Because I came in earlier and I heard the shower running and _both_ of you were obviously in there and I was like, yeah, I’m just gonna stay out here a little while longer.” She gestured with her laptop, which she set down on the rickety table by the door before dropping down to sit on the bed. “Seriously, if I go in there with a black light, is it going to look like a Jackson Pollock painting?”

Jemma’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Oh, Skye, that is absolutely-- _no._ ” Then she reconsidered. “Well, it very well might, but it certainly won’t be because of _us._ That is just--” She waved her hands. “Disgusting.”

Skye grinned. “Totally worth it for the look on your face.”

Jemma rolled her eyes without any real heat behind it, then gave her a concerned look. “How are you feeling?”

“You mean, how am I feeling after finding out the guy I really kinda liked is a backstabbing murderer who turned on us, kidnapped me, and tried to force me to sell all our information out?” Skye shrugged expressively. “Better than I expected.” At Jemma’s even more concerned look, she added, “Better now that I’m back with you guys. How are you guys holding up?”

Jemma bit her lip, looking down at the blanket in her lap and picking at a loose thread. “Fitz is...he’s not taking it well,” she said, trying to keep her voice down so he wouldn’t hear. “Ward, it’s...it’s hit him very hard.”

That was when Fitz came back out of the bathroom, and they both smiled up at him--Jemma a little guiltily--as he slipped into bed beside him.

“Yeah, well, none of us could have guessed we had a lying Nazi asshole in our midst, so I wouldn’t take it too personally.” Skye stood and crossed over to where her backpack was lying up against the wall and crouched to unzip it. “Hey, thanks for bringing my bag with my clothes, by the way.” 

Fitz had been running his thumb along Jemma’s hip while the two women spoke, but it stopped abruptly at Skye’s comment. There was little doubt who that was meant for, and he couldn’t stop his reflexive wince. It just didn’t seem real to him, no matter the evidence presented, although he knew by now that voicing any kind of opinion in favor of Ward would only get him shouted down and spoil the mood. 

He simply nodded to acknowledge Skye’s comment and watched as she began to root through her bag, his mind wandering a bit. They couldn’t stay here forever, as much as they may have wanted to hide from the world. Coulson certainly wasn’t a man to sit still for too long; surely he already had something planned and ready to go. 

“I wonder what Coulson’s next move is.” Fitz’ statement wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but rather to both Jemma and Skye in the hopes of some kind of answer. “I mean, he can’t just have us sit here and hope for the best, can he?”

Skye shrugged as she stood, a t-shirt and pair of shorts in hand, and turned back to face them. “He didn’t say anything to me, Fitz. He was talking to Trip for a while, but they didn’t seem to be in the mood to share with the class.” She gave another slight roll of her shoulders and slipped into the bathroom, leaving Fitz and Jemma alone once more. 

“Sounds like he’s plannin’ some kind o’ op, doesn’t it?” Fitz directed his question to Jemma, his voice quiet. He couldn’t be certain which was worse, staying at the hotel or charging back into the fight against Hydra, but he knew he hated the uncertainty of just waiting there. 

“I’m sure he is,” Jemma murmured. “He and Trip both. Trip’s practically our specialist now, now that...well, he’s trained for that sort of thing. I trust that they’re planning something. Coulson won’t have us sitting still for long.” 

She leaned her head on his shoulder with a small sigh and rested her hand on his thigh, on top of the blankets. “Do you worry that this will all get worse before it gets any better? It’s just...the odds aren’t exactly stacked in our favor right now.” 

Fitz chuffed out a humorless laugh at Jemma’s question and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Only every time I think about it.” His answer wasn’t a particularly comforting one, but he couldn’t lie to Jemma. She had the same training and was just as capable of reading the signs as he was, and what was more, she was the only person that could truly understand the fear he felt curling through his gut. “But then I try t’ remind myself that we trained for this. We’re as ready as we can be, and we’ve got a good team. We can get through this.”

In the morning, after they’d all gotten a good night’s sleep in decent size beds, Fitz found himself believing wholeheartedly everything he’d said the night before. It was nearly impossible to not see things positively in light of what had happened overnight: Trip had managed to bring them his grandfather’s old spy gear, which although outdated would be more than capable of helping them infiltrate Cybertek, and Coulson indeed had a plan to get them in. And while he wasn’t thrilled about the idea of handing over the work he and Jemma had put so much time and effort into, Fitz could accept that it was necessary for the greater good. 

His confidence took a hit though when they discovered that Cybertek didn’t have a single computer with which Coulson and May could trigger Skye’s Trojan horse, and they wound up rifling through the contents of a rather battered file cabinet for the rest of the afternoon. It yielded the rather startling discovery that Garrett, of all people, was the original Deathlok, and gave them their first real lead. 

While the rest of the team scrambled to find any other useful information, Trip worked on tracking Cybertek shipments and tracked them all to one place: Havana, Cuba. Fitz felt a sickening chill roll down his spine when Coulson made the announcement that they’d leave immediately for the island. Everything seemed to be moving far too quickly, and he found himself nearly overwhelmed by the impulse to grab Jemma, their backpacks, and make a run for it. Instead he remembered his training, reminded himself that they were Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., and instead made sure everything was ready to go on their end. 

None of that helped to ease any of Fitz’ tension, though, until they arrived in Cuba and Coulson gave them their assignments. He and Jemma were being sent to hunt for the Bus, an easy enough task once they were able to identify all nearby airports and landing strips. What’s more, Coulson made it a point to tell them that they weren’t to be reckless. All they needed to do was find the Bus and report back to him. Any and all confrontation was to be avoided. 

Fitz felt confident they could do that, and so feeling lighter than he had in ages, he picked up their gear in one hand, took Jemma’s in the other, and headed for their transport. They would find the Bus before the end of the day, and then everything would be all right. 

Jemma was similarly in good spirits. She knew Ward and Garrett had control of the Bus, which was a definite concern for the danger that posed, but tracking the plane down didn’t necessarily mean getting anywhere near it. All they had to do was report on its location. So she smiled at Fitz as they set out, squeezing her hand in his, and prepared herself to focus on their work.

The first couple of places they checked didn’t turn up anything, but they struck gold at the third place on their list. They found the Bus at a small airstrip outside the city, and once they were able to get close enough to get a good look, determined that the plane was being loaded up with supplies. The bad news was, it looked like they were almost done, and had plans to leave immediately thereafter.

Who knew where Hydra would go from there? They couldn’t afford to lose the Bus again, not now when they were so close. Jemma and Fitz deliberated over their limited options for a few minutes while they took turns surveying the Bus through a pair of binoculars they were sharing between them.

“Perhaps we should send in one of the D.W.A.R.F.s,” she suggested, looking out through the windows of the storage shed they were in. “That way, we could track them.” 

“Brilliant, as always.” Fitz smiled at Jemma, pleased that she had hit upon a solution that would let them follow the Bus without putting any of them in danger. “I’ll just go get them from the car.” Fitz turned to go but came up short when he saw who was standing in the doorway. 

“Long time, no see.”

For a moment, he was actually pleased to see Ward. He could help them get the drone onto the plane and show once and for all that he really was one of the good guys. Fitz opened his mouth to say as much, but was cut off by a clicking sound. His eyes traveled down, and he felt his stomach drop at the sight of a gun - definitely a gun, not an ICER - leveled directly at his chest. Fitz’ eyes flew between the gun and Ward’s face, his mind whirring in panic. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

He wanted to tell Jemma to run, to see if he could distract Ward long enough to let her get away, but it would be useless. One shot would finish Fitz, and then he’d be onto Jemma like nothing at all. They were both trapped, and he couldn’t even do anything to save her. He swallowed heavily, glanced back at Jemma, and met Ward’s eye again. 

“W-Ward, please, we just-”

“Quiet,” Ward snapped, shutting Fitz up instantly. “Since you seem so interested in what we’re doing, how about a closer look?” He reached out and grabbed Fitz by the shoulder, roughly pulling him in front of him and gesturing to Jemma with the gun. “Let’s go. Try anything funny, and you’ll regret it.”

Jemma’s blood ran cold at the sight of Ward and the very real gun he had pointed at them. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide, she wanted to push Fitz away and shield him with her body, especially after Ward grabbed him by the shoulder, but she couldn’t do any of those things. And it was terrible to see Ward like this, when she had once considered him a friend, he who had once laughed with her and joked with her--to see him now, looking at them dispassionately, pointing a loaded weapon at them as if they meant nothing to him. It was awful. 

She came forward quietly, her hands half-raised, without taking her eyes off him. Once she was within reach of him, Ward grabbed her by the shoulder too and shoved her forward to join Fitz. She stumbled against him, and she shot him a quick look, trying to convey to him everything she could communicate in one glance: that they were fucked, she was terrified, but they were together, and they would make it through. Somehow.

The march to the Bus was silent and tense. Ward had both Fitz and Jemma walk just ahead of them, and they were acutely aware of the gun he had aimed at their backs. Trying to run or overpower him was not an option. He would have them both shot dead before they could even try. And they had nothing on them that they could use to covertly alert the team that they had been made. They were completely on their own.

Ward took them directly up into the main cabin of the Bus, where Garrett was conferring with several Hydra goons. Seeing them on _their_ plane, _their_ home, made a burst of anger run through her, and Jemma raised her chin defiantly as Ward pushed them towards his boss. Next to her, she saw Fitz do the same.

“Here they are,” Ward announced.

Garrett looked a little worse for wear from the last time Fitz had seen him, which made it easier to square his shoulders and meet the older man’s eye. Doing his best to channel Coulson’s calm, he stood a little straighter and said, “This is our plane. We want it back.”

“Really? Just like that, kid?”

Part of Fitz rankled that he’d been called a kid, but he supposed he should just be grateful that Garrett hadn’t outright laughed in his face. There was one other benefit to Garrett not taking him seriously: he didn’t even bother to pay attention when Fitz slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling for the gizmo Trip had given him earlier. Ward did, though, and grabbed his forearm just before Garrett turned to leave the cabin. 

“What’s he got there?”

Ward forced his hand out of his pocket and Fitz laid his palm flat to show the others what was in his palm. He could feel Jemma’s eyes on him and struggled not to glance at her. If he looked at her, he feared he’d give everything away. 

“One of those prank joy buzzers.”

“Yeah, y’ know me,” Fitz deadpanned, meeting Ward’s eyes, “Always kiddin’ around.” 

He pressed the button on the EMP, sending the electronics in the main cabin sparking. Fitz watched Garrett carefully, waiting for any sign of distress. It was nearly instantaneous, with the older man going down to a knee as he clutched at his chest. Fitz turned to Ward, seeing the man’s eyes go wide in shock. 

“What the hell was that?!”

Everything went to hell after that, with one of the goons telling Ward it was an EMP. Fitz tried to get in Garrett’s face, carried away with the thrill that his spur-of-the-moment plan had worked, but he was quickly jerked back by another guard. Ward took off, presumably for a medical kit, leaving Fitz and Jemma to watch as Garrett writhed. Fitz wished he could say he was horrified, but all he felt was a grim satisfaction. Of all the people who deserved to be in pain, Garrett was near the top of Fitz’ list.

Ward came running back in with two med packs and hunched over Garrett. The sight irked Fitz and he found himself taunting the men, despite his better judgement. There was a brief stab of fear when Garrett told him he was dead, but the satisfaction of knowing Garrett would be dead, too, overrode it. Something else occurred to him, too, and he turned to Ward. 

“And you don’t have t’ take orders from him anymore, Ward. Ward!” The specialist turned to look at him, and Fitz held his gaze. “Let him die. He _deserves_ t’ die.”

There was a beat where Fitz thought Ward was going to take his advice, would pick up and help them beat back the rest of Garrett’s men. But all he did was swallow and look back at his S.O. as he grit out, “Get them out of here!”

And just like that, the last of Fitz’ hopes for Ward began to fade, and panic began to work its way through him. He and Jemma were utterly alone and at the mercy of Hydra. 

Pride in Fitz for pulling one over on Garrett mixed with the very real fear that he really would kill them. Jemma knew they had struck a blow, but she didn't know how much time it had bought them, or if it would be enough. Certainly, the way Ward had yelled at them and the way she and Fitz were manhandled down the stairs wasn't very reassuring. 

“Coulson will find us, won't he?” she asked Fitz anxiously as they were herded into the lab. There were a couple of Hydra techs at work in there and it absolutely galled her to see them tainting _their_ work space.

“Yeah,” Fitz replied, a little too loudly. “Man won't rest until every Hydra agent is either dead or behind bars.”

Without warning, he grabbed the back of one of the lab stools and shoved it over, creating a barrier between them and the Hydra goons who were escorting them. “Go!” he cried, breaking into a run and pushing her ahead of him.

She did as she was told, racing down the back corridor of the Bus, fear and adrenaline spiking in her heart. She could hear the goons running after them; they went through a door and Fitz turned to close it, engaging the lock just in time. They had a second to see them beating ineffectually against the glass in anger before they turned and ran again, down the corridor and around the med pods.

Just as they turned the corner, Jemma saw Ward coming down the ladder from the cabin above. She yelped, backpedaling; they were trapped now, with nowhere to go. But Fitz grabbed her arm and pulled her back, opening the door to the closest med pod and pushing her in ahead of him. He slammed the door shut and locked it just as Ward reached them, slamming a hand against it.

“Open the door, Fitz,” he ordered, his eyes cold.

With his heart still racing from their sprint beneath the Bus, Fitz held up his hands and tried to gather himself to plead with Ward. From the look on the other man’s face, the odds weren’t good, but he had to try. If only to keep Jemma safe, he had to try. 

“Ward, please… I need t’ understand.” 

“You need to accept the truth, Fitz,” Jemma cut in, her words landing like blows. “He doesn’t care about us, about anything.”

He watched as Ward’s eyes flicked to Jemma’s, his jaw working as though he were resisting saying something. Unwilling - or perhaps unable - to hear whatever was set to come out of his mouth, Fitz plowed on. 

“No. I don’t believe that. We’re friends, aren’t we? We’ve been friends, we’ve had laughs together.” Fitz watched Ward sigh and look away, and a tiny bit of hope ballooned in his chest. He was getting through to him. He had to keep going. “I know that you’re a good person, Ward. And y’ can choose right now t’ be good. It’s a choice.”

“I’ve got my orders. Open up the door.”

That was that. There was no hope for them, and they were stuck in the equivalent of a tin can. The door was locked, but Fitz wasn’t confident that it would keep Ward out for very long. Still, it was their only remaining hope. 

“No. Not a chance.” It was hard enough knowing their former teammate and so-called friend was willing to kill them, but Fitz would be damned if he made it easy on the bastard. 

“All right. Have it your way.”

Fitz watched as Ward turned away to go to the control panel on the opposite wall. Dread filled his gut as Ward began pressing buttons, priming the pod to eject. He and Jemma began to plead in earnest, panic clear in both their voices as they begged for their lives. Seeing Ward wasn't going to stop, Fitz tried one last, desperate effort. 

“You don't need t’ do this, Ward! I know that y’ still care about us!”

He thought he heard Ward mutter something in response, but his words were lost in a rush of air as the door opened and the medpod began to tip. Moving on instinct, he pushed Jemma into the corner and did his best to protect them from the initial impact.


	22. Chapter 22

Unfortunately, Fitz's best wasn't enough. The impact of hitting the water knocked Jemma's head against the wall, and Fitz felt her go limp in his arms. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek, trying to see her eyes, only to be struck by the flying defibrillator. He heard a sickening crunch and pain shot down his arm. That couldn't be good. 

They swayed with the movement of the water but seemed stable for the time being. He guided Jemma to the floor as best he could with his broken arm, hoping to get enough light to perform at least a cursory exam. The problem was, the light was fading, going from painfully bright Caribbean sunlight to an eerie greenish blue. Fitz glanced out the window and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw it was more than half covered with water.

They were sinking, and fast. 

When Jemma came to, it was to near-darkness. There was a very dim blue light filtering in through the window of the pod door, augmented only by a small emergency lantern in a corner of the pod. Groaning softly, she looked around, and saw that the floor--actually the wall--of the pod was strewn with medical supplies, some tossed about by the pod’s fall from the plane, others obviously rifled and searched through. 

When she craned her head up, which sent a lance of pain shooting through her, she saw that she was lying right next to Fitz, who was sitting up, looking worse for wear. There was blood on his face and his left arm was in a sling. He looked down at her as she stirred, relief crossing his features, but it was overwhelmed by a general worry. 

Fitz tried to smile at Jemma, but he knew it didn’t come close to meeting his eyes. He’d had plenty of time to run calculations while waiting for her to wake up, and nothing he’d figured was positive. Still, he didn’t have the heart to break that news to her as soon as she’d woken up. So instead he smiled and scooted a bit closer to her than he’d been before. 

“Hey, you’re up.” It came out a whisper, and Fitz found that he was almost afraid to break the silence, as though it would make everything that had happened real instead of theoretical. He knew it was foolish to think that way, but he wanted to steal a few more moments with Jemma while he could. “I’m glad you’re up.”

She pushed up to sit with another groan, raising a hand to push her hair from her face and prod gently at her head. It was sore; she’d knocked it hard, apparently. Then she looked at Fitz--relieved to see him, yes, but worried about the expression on his face, and his arm. She gingerly touched his shoulder, not wanting to hurt him, and looked between him and the pod door window. That was definitely water outside. Looking back at him, she said, “What happened?”

Fitz sighed and looked down, trying to find a gentle way to tell Jemma what had happened. So much for being able to put off giving her the news. 

“We sank,” he said simply, deciding that giving it to her as straight as possible was his best bet. It wasn’t like there was a guide for how to tell someone this. “I spent the past hour or so tryin’ t’ figure out why. My best guess is that since these are designed t’ be used in all S.H.I.E.L.D. transports, it changed to match the density o’ our submarines and sank.

“I’ve been countin’ the bubbles against the glass. From what I can tell-” Fitz took a deep breath, knowing that as soon as he told Jemma this next bit, she’d see the writing on the wall for them. “We’re about 90 feet down.”

Jemma turned to look back out of the window again, before slowly around once more to look at him. “So even if we were to find a way out of here, if we swam up, we’d have the bends, and be lost in the middle of the ocean without anyone knowing to look for us…” She trailed off as the bleak reality of their situation sank in, and when she lifted her eyes to Fitz’s they were disbelieving. “Do we have a radio in here with us, anything that we could use to signal for help?” She twisted to start looking around her in the mess that littered the pod floor.

Fitz nodded to the remains of the EKG in the corner. The sad looking thing sat there, blinking slowly at them as it tried its best to do what Fitz had asked it to, to no avail. 

“I repurposed the EKG to send out a distress call, but forgot that no one’s listenin’. There isn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore, and no one will be tryin’ t’ monitor those frequencies. I mean, Coulson may have somethin’, but-” 

It was a long shot, and not one Fitz was willing to pin his hopes on. Still, he was a born optimist, and he’d let the EKG go on transmitting in the hopes that someone might come along to save them. 

“Jemma, I’m not sure there’s a way out o’ this.”

She sat back on her heels, her face stricken. This couldn’t be it. This wasn’t how they were supposed to end, slowly suffocating to death in a metal box on the bottom of the ocean where no one would ever find them. She thought of her family, of Fitz’s mother, of Skye and Coulson and May. They would never have bodies to bring home and mourn. There wouldn’t be anything. Nothing. They would just be...gone. Forgotten.

Swallowing thickly, she looked at Fitz, blinking back tears. “Fitz…” she whispered, reaching for him. There was nothing else for it. If they were going to die and there was nothing more they could do, then she wanted to be close to him.

Fitz made room for her automatically, lifting his right arm so she could slip under it and bringing it around her shoulders to hold Jemma close. The tears he’d seen shining in her eyes had brought on a fresh wave of his own. He had thought he’d finished crying while she was knocked out, but he’d clearly been mistaken. Fitz buried his nose in her hair and closed his eyes tight, trying to simply appreciate being able to hold her. 

“It may be a cold comfort,” he whispered, “but I- I’m glad I’m with y’.” It was the truth. It may not have been the way he’d imagined going, but being able to look at Jemma - and even kiss her before they went - was about as good a death as he could hope for. 

“It’s not cold,” Jemma whispered back fervently, her cheek pressed against his chest. Not wanting to hurt his arm, and being unable to wrap her arms around his middle this way, she fisted her fingers into the denim of his jeans, near his knee. “It’s not cold.” She craned her head back to look up at him, and her eyes were sad, but fierce. “I’m glad I’m with you, too. If it had to be anyone...I’m glad it’s you.”

Of course, she’d prefer neither of them be there at all, but if she had to pick anyone to meet her end with, it would be Fitz. Better that they go together than either of them be forced to go on without the other. 

Letting out a shaky breath, she pressed a kiss to the edge of his jaw before settling back against him. “How--how long do you think we have?” she asked. It was perhaps not the best thing to ask--knowing the specifics might make things worse--but she was naturally curious, right to the end. 

With the way Jemma was looking at him - as though she could ensure their survival through sheer force of will - Fitz found himself thinking that he’d never loved her more. She was beautiful and strong, and just looking at her made his heart ache. He felt a single tear roll down his cheek as she kissed him and did his best to wipe it away with his shoulder, unwilling to let go of Jemma even to run the back of his hand across his eyes. 

“I’m not sure. A few hours, maybe.” They lapsed into silence for a while until something occurred to Fitz. It may not have been the best or most comforting thing to say, but it was all he could offer her at the moment. “I think - I hope - It’ll be like fallin’ asleep. When the oxygen levels get too low, we’ll just pass out. We won’t even really know.” 

Fitz could live with that. Or at least it was more appealing than other options. Falling asleep next to the person he loved the most, next to Jemma, was how he’d choose to go in his old age if he could. He was just getting to do it a few decades earlier than expected. When he thought of it like that, it didn’t seem quite that terrible. 

No, it didn’t. Jemma blinked back a few more tears as she sat there, her forehead resting in the crook of Fitz’s neck, her ear close to his pulse. It was steady, his heartbeat good and strong, and she used the familiar rhythm to calm and soothe her. When all was said and done, there really were worse ways to go. Drifting off to sleep in the arms of the man she loved was probably better than she could have asked for, really. It was certainly better than she deserved. 

A strange sense of peace washed over her. Sniffling a little, she carefully brought her arm over so she could curl her hand around his elbow, the best approximation of a hug she could do without jostling his injured arm. “Are you scared?” she asked softly.

As soon as Jemma had settled against his chest, Fitz tilted his head down, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. It felt like every other time he’d held Jemma, something he found comforting, despite everything else. They were together, just as they should be, and everything would be okay. 

“A bit,” he murmured, his breath stirring a few stray strands of her hair. “More regretful, really. I was lookin’ forward t’ huntin’ down that flat one day.” Fitz tightened his arm around Jemma, giving her as much of a hug as he was able. There were other things he’d been looking forward to as well - finding her a ring, buying a house, maybe kids - but mentioning that now would only hurt more than help. 

“My mum says there’s nothin’ t’ be scared of when it comes t’ dyin’. Says it’ll be just like before y’ were born.”

Jemma smiled wistfully. She’d looked forward to finding a flat someday too, to a life with Fitz after S.H.I.E.L.D. The concept was difficult to imagine, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable. A nice, stable, 9-5 job, consulting maybe, or working for a private lab, being able to come home to Fitz in the evenings and relax together, having whole weekends and holidays to themselves...even beyond that. She’d imagined children too, someday. She’d known that Fitz was it for her from the moment they’d first moved in together as teenagers. She couldn’t imagine ever building a life with anyone else.

They would never have that life now.

“That’s sweet,” she murmured. “Though, apparently I was miserable before I was born, upside down, umbilical cord all wrapped around my head…” She felt Fitz huff and she squeezed his elbow to let him know that she was only joking. Then she sighed lightly and looked toward the window, at the dim light flickering through it.

“I like to think about the first law of thermodynamics,” she continued after a moment. “That no energy in the universe is created--”

“--And none is destroyed,” Fitz murmured along with her.

She smiled. “That means that every bit of energy inside us, every particle, will go on to become part of something else. Maybe live as a dragonfish, a microbe...maybe burn in a supernova ten billion years from now.” That peace from before was washing through her again, settling over her like a warm blanket. This wasn’t really the end, after all. She and Fitz would go on to create something new, after this form of them was gone. And they wouldn’t part, not then, not ever. They’d mix together to create something new and beautiful, and go on together like that.

“And every part of us now, was once a part of some other thing,” she said. “A moon, a stormcloud, a mammoth…”

“A monkey,” Fitz supplied quietly.

Her heart pulsed one beat of love so strongly for him that it ached. “A monkey,” she echoed, squeezing his elbow again. “Thousands and thousands of other beautiful things.” She sighed. “I’m glad I have you down here with me, Fitz. It’s fitting we’re down here, together. This is where all life began on our planet, anyway. Just outside that...glass…”

She trailed off as she peered at the glass of the pod door again, a sudden idea occurring to her, and just like that--hope lit like a spark within her chest. She sat up straight from where she’d been leaning against Fitz’s chest.

“What?” He sat up with her, his body chasing hers instinctively as she moved away from him, wanting to keep that comfort for as long as he was able. 

“The glass.” Jemma was kneeling next to the pane now, staring at it and running her fingers along the edges as though she were expecting to find something there. “Fitz, the _glass_.”

She said it as though it should mean something to him, but nothing sparked in his brain, leaving Fitz to furrow his brow in confusion. “Yeah. It’s bulletproof, pressure-resistant…” He looked at the pane hopelessly, his mind whirring through all the ideas he’d come up with (and discarded) while Jemma had been knocked out. 

“The seal is 4-hydroxy-4-methyl-2-pentanone, surely.” She leaned into the window, as though by changing her angle she could confirm just what the epoxy was made of. 

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but the flash point is too high for it to burn.” Fitz had thought about combusting the seal, too, but hadn’t been able to find anything in the medpod that would let him create enough energy to ignite the damn thing. 

“Yeah,” Jemma practically spat at him, her words coming more quickly as her excitement grew, “but medical ethanol has a low flash point, burns--”

“--hotter.” Fitz finished her sentence, sitting up fully and scooting over next to her so he could see the seal, too. His mind ran through the items he had catalogued after they’d first sunk and hit on an idea. “If we could use the defibrillator as an ignition source…”

“And build a compressed explosive…” Jemma threw in, easily picking up his thought. 

“T’ ignite the seal, the outside pressure will blow the window in!”

They finished the sentence together, both of them climbing to their feet in their excitement and practically vibrating with the possibility. They could get out, which was one step closer to getting home. Jemma practically jumped into him, her arms coming around his neck as they kissed in celebration. As nice as it was, though, the movement jostled his arm uncomfortably and he had to break off the kiss far sooner than he’d have liked. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, “that just really hurt my arm.”

Even that couldn’t diminish the brightness of Jemma’s smile. She just stopped, taking one step back from him and moving to hold him by the upper arms, steadying him, before leaning in to give him one more quick kiss.

“Okay, yeah, well--now we know that, we’ve got a whole new set of problems, but where do we start?”


	23. Chapter 23

They started by collecting all the bottles of medical ethanol that they could find, along with medical tape, that they could use to tape the bottles to the window. Fitz worked on rigging the defibrillator as best he could one-handed. When he needed help, Jemma assisted him, following his instructions to work the wire cables to the paddles out to tape along the edges of the window and into the necks of the ethanol bottles. Then it was just a matter of making sure the defibrillator sent out a voltage high enough to set the ethanol off to blow the window in. Fitz was confident that he could do it, and Jemma had faith in him.

It didn’t take very long to get their makeshift bomb ready. Fitz did the finishing touches on the defibrillator while Jemma made sure the wires and bottles were all taped securely and properly in place. “Everything’s ready here,” she said, looking back at him. 

While Jemma did the work he wasn’t capable of doing with a broken arm, Fitz turned his attention to the other half of the problem: what to do after they’d detonated the window. Given the pressure outside the medpod, they would be flooded within seconds, and would likely have the wind knocked out of them in the process. That wouldn’t do at all, so Fitz began scrounging around for the small oxygen canisters they had used to tend to Skye, his heart sinking as he quietly checked each and every one. 

There was only one with any oxygen in it, and there wouldn’t be enough for them both. 

Fitz was enough of a realist to know what that meant, but he kept quiet. It would be better to tell Jemma at the last moment, otherwise she would try to argue him around, likely well past the point of there being enough oxygen left to blow the charges. And at least as long as she got out, well, Jemma would be able to comfort his mother, far more so than Coulson just showing up at her door. 

“Okay,” he muttered, coming over and checking the way she’d wired the charges. Of course she’d laid them perfectly, and Fitz felt a twinge of pride at how well Jemma had done. They took a half step back from the window over to where the defibrillator was and he steeled himself to look Jemma in the eye. 

“Now, when I press that power button...” he nodded down toward it, prompting Jemma’s gaze to follow his.

“The window will blow in, and water will rush inwards,” she filled in matter-of-factly, sounding for all the world like she was prepping for any other mission. It put Fitz at ease, in an odd way. Maybe she’d take this better than he’d first thought. 

“Yeah, which is goin’ t’ be like 100 punches t’ the stomach, okay? The wind’s goin’ t’ be knocked right out o’ us.” Fitz turned back to grab the oxygen canister and held it up for Jemma to see. “Now, this is near empty, but I’ve rigged it t’ let out a burst o’ very high pressure. It should force a breath into your lungs, but y’ have t’ hold onto it, okay? Hold on tight. It should be enough t’ get y’ up the 90 feet or so.”

Jemma listened intently to what Fitz said, focusing on what they needed to do, but something in his wording caught her attention, and she frowned at him. “One breath?” she asked, not understanding. “But there’s two of us, we need two.”

“I know, Jemma, but,” Fitz sighed, not wanting to say the next part but needing to. “Look, I’ve done the math, all right? That’s why you’re takin’ it. You’re a better swimmer anyway.” There was plenty he was leaving unsaid, but he trusted Jemma to fill in the blanks on her own. With his broken arm there was no way he’d be able to pull himself up 90 feet to the surface. If the end result was going to be him drowning regardless, he would rather do that here, in the pod, knowing he’d helped Jemma survive. At least his death would mean something then. 

Jemma continued to frown as if she didn’t understand what he was saying, as if he’d said something patently stupid. “No,” she said. When he tried to interrupt her, she shook her head, her voice rising. “No, that’s ridiculous, I’m not leaving you here, we need a new plan!”

He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. He _wouldn’t_. She refused to believe it. So she pushed aside those thoughts and stood firm. There was another way. She wasn’t leaving him here to die.

“We’re not discussin’ it, Jemma.” Fitz kept his tone level, not wanting to spend his last moments on Earth yelling at her. The memory would be difficult enough without adding his anger to the mix. “You’re takin’ it, end of story.”

She stared at him as though he’d gone mad, and Fitz watched as her eyes glossed over with tears. He was breaking her heart. He knew it and he hated himself for it, but it had to be done. Jemma had to make it out. If he was lucky, maybe she’d at least understand why he was doing it, and maybe she’d even forgive him someday. 

“Jemma, I couldn’t live if y’ didn’t.”

“I--I feel the same way, there has to be another way!” Oh god, he _was_ , he was giving himself up for her, and she couldn’t stand it. She could feel panic clawing at her throat, threatening to overwhelm her, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t want to live without him, couldn’t fathom a world without him in it, and didn’t know how he could be talking so calmly about just _giving up_ and leaving her. She didn’t understand how he could ask her to do this, to just leave him behind. As if she even would. She _couldn’t._ Her whole world felt like it was crumbling apart beneath her feet and she was powerless to stop it.

“I don’t understand, Fitz, why are you making me do this?” she cried, her heart breaking, the tears in her eyes spilling over. “I--I can’t-- _Fitz--_ ”

He wrapped his good arm around her, canister and all, tucking Jemma against his chest and rocking, trying to calm her. Fitz was also trying to get his fill of her, trying to surround himself with her and give him the courage to actually press that little red button that would end his life. He couldn’t do that with Jemma upset with him like this. 

“Shh,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s all right, Jemma. Really, it is.” His own tears had begun to fall, rolling slowly down his face and making it difficult to speak, but he needed her to hear this. “I- I never thought I’d get t’ be with y’ again. But these past few months - gettin’ t’ hold, kiss, and _love_ y’... They’ve been the best months o’ my life. There’s-” His throat constricted unexpectedly, cutting him off, but Fitz cleared it and went back at it. “There’s so much more I wish we could have done, but you’ve given me so much as it is. So please, Jemma, let me do this for y’ now.” 

She shook her head against his cheek, the tears coming hard and fast now, choking her up and making it difficult to speak. “No,” she cried, clutching at his shirt. “No, _no._ ” It seemed to be all she could say, the one word her entire mind, body, and soul, her very heart was screaming--rejecting that this was happening. He wasn’t saying goodbye. She didn’t want to let him go. They still had so much left to do together. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him and never let him go, or make it so there was enough air for them both simply through sheer force of will.

Fitz gently shushed her, trying to calm her tears, and her heart broke even more. Pulling back, she took his face in her hands and began pressing kisses to every precious inch of it--his cheeks, his nose, his chin, forehead, temple, eyelids, jawline, and finally his mouth. She kissed his lips several times, still crying, unwilling to give him up, trying to sear the taste and the feel of him into her memory. Then she leaned her forehead against his, her hands on his shoulders, and tried to look at him through the tears blurring her vision. His beautiful, beautiful, infinitely precious face.

“No,” she said again through her tears, her voice wobbling. “Fitz…” 

“If there was another way, Jemma, I’d take it. Believe me.”

Fitz did his best to smile at her, although he was sure it was a feeble attempt. He blinked back his own tears, wanting to get one last good look at her. His eyes took in the slope of her cheek, the lines of her nose, the gentle curve of her lips, and the brightness of her eyes, even in this dark, cramped box. She was as beautiful as she’d ever been, perhaps simply because she was his. 

Realizing he’d only lose his nerve if he kept it up much longer, Fitz leaned in for a final kiss, pouring every last bit of what he felt for Jemma into it. He could taste both of their tears through it, but underneath that tang was that sweet hint that was unique to her. That was what he’d been after, and now that he found it, it was time to go. 

Fitz pulled away, his heart aching terribly, and pressed the oxygen canister to Jemma’s stomach. She stared at him, lips quivering and clearly distraught, but her fingers wrapped around it. Certain she’d maintain her hold on it, Fitz used his free hand to wrap behind her neck, pulling her forward so he could rest his forehead against hers and whispered, “I love y’.”

His last piece said, Fitz slammed his palm onto the button before he could lose his nerve. 

Jemma realized what he was doing a second too late and her heart leapt into her throat, but she couldn’t stop him.

“ _NO!_ ”

The window exploded inward with a deafening bang and water burst in, knocking them away from each other and slamming them into the walls. By some miracle, Jemma managed to keep her hold on the oxygen canister and raised it to her mouth just before the rushing water rose above her head and took the breath away from her.

Then she looked for Fitz. For a few frantic, terrifying seconds that felt like an eternity, she couldn’t see him in the chaos that was the rapidly-filling pod, but then she saw him, limp and unmoving, on the opposite side of the pod from her. Fear lanced through her, but she swam forward, grabbed ahold of his shirt, and made for the window.

Then she swam for her life--and Fitz’s.

She swam as hard as she could, as fast as her legs could kick. She could barely see the surface and it looked so far away, like she would never reach it, but she had to try. Fitz felt like a dead weight, dragging her down, but she pulled harder. She refused to let him go. He’d intended for her to leave him there, but it wasn’t an option. She was going to save his life, or die trying.

It felt like the more she swam, the farther away the surface got, until her lungs were bursting for want of oxygen, and her vision began to spot. Just when she thought her reflexes would force her mouth open to take a breath, finding seawater instead, she finally broke the surface. 

She cried out, taking in great gasping lungfuls of air. Then she pulled up Fitz next to her. His head lolled back against her like a rag doll, and she wrapped an arm around him, trying to support him and keep his head clear of the waves. Then she looked around them as she treaded water, her heart sinking. Just like they’d feared, they were alone in the middle of the ocean with no one to find them. They’d escaped the pod, but they were still doomed to drown.

Then she heard a noise. Looking about, she was amazed to see a helicopter, flying low and coming closer--and a man, reaching out to her like some sort of savior borne from the heavens.

“Help!” she cried out as numbness and nausea began to overtake her. She threw her arm blindly out, reaching for her rescuer, and he grabbed it. Then she shook her head.

“No...take him first,” she said, trying to nod at Fitz. Blackness was creeping in from the edges of her vision. “Take...take him first.”

Other arms reached out from the open door of the helicopter, and Fitz was plucked from her arms. She almost refused to let him go, instinct wanting to keep him close, but she had to trust that these people were here to help, possibly even S.H.I.E.L.D., hopefully sent by Coulson. She sank back into the water, buffeted by the winds of the helicopter’s rotor blades, and fought to stay awake, but the decompression sickness was just too much. The last thing she was aware of was being lifted out of the water by strong hands and lowered to the floor of the helicopter. Then she passed out.

-:-

Jemma jerked back awake with a start, surprised to find herself lying on her back in a tube with a glass lid. Disoriented, not knowing where she was, she looked around until her eyes fell on a man sitting next to the tube, looking down on her. She was shocked to see that it was Director Fury.

“You’re in decompression,” he said, by way of an explanation. “On a jet, back to the mainland.”

She stared at him. “They told us you were dead,” she whispered, unable to believe it was really him.

“Good,” he replied, sounding entirely too cheerful about it. “We want word to get around on that.”

She blinked, continuing to look around as she got her bearings. And then it all came rushing back in on her--the med pod, Fitz’s sacrifice, how she’d pulled him up to the surface and how he’d been unconscious, unmoving against her. And she didn’t see any sign of him in here with her and Director Fury. Panic spiked through her, and she struggled to move, to sit up within the decompression chamber. “ _Fitz--_ ”

“Easy, easy,” Fury cautioned, resting a hand against the glass of her chamber. “His heart’s still beating, just barely. I have a full med team with him.”

Jemma sank back, briefly closing her eyes as a powerful wave of relief coursed through her. He was alive. _Alive_. Everything else she could take as it came at her, but the important thing was that he was alive.

“But you have to remain in this chamber,” Fury continued. “His brain was without oxygen for a long time, but you saved him.’

She thought of the oxygen canister, and Fitz’s face, his eyes as he’d calmly told her that she was going to take the last breath. “It was the other way around,” she murmured.

Time lost a lot of meaning after that. She didn’t know how long she spent in the decompression chamber; all she knew was that it was time spent with nothing to do but think and worry about Fitz. After Fury left, no one else came in to see her or give her updates on his condition until the jet landed and her decompression chamber, with her still inside of it, was wheeled out.

They’d been taken to a new base--or rather, another secret one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s, which she learned was called the Playground. As soon as she was deemed recovered from her decompression sickness and cleared to leave the chamber, she demanded to see Fitz, but was denied--the doctors were still working with him, they said. It was suggested that she take the time to rest, get cleaned up, recover from her ordeal. Those were the absolute last things she wanted to do; they seemed like absolutely banal, trite things to do when the love of her life was in such a critical state, but in the end she was given no choice.

So she walked the brick halls of an unfamiliar base alone, was shown to a room she was told could eventually become hers if the team stayed, and given a change of clothes. Left by herself, she took in the room. It was lightly furnished, but she could see the potential for it becoming much more homey if personal touches were added, if she and Fitz added their personal effects--but her thoughts going down that road only brought tears to her eyes, so she roughly pushed them aside and went into the bathroom.

One look at the shower stall and the thought of water had the gorge rising in her throat and a full-blown panic attack threatening, so she backed right out and went back to the bed, sitting on it and taking slow, deep breaths to get her breathing under control. Once she felt she was no longer a threat to hyperventilate, she changed her clothes. A shower would have to wait until she felt like she could handle water again...whenever that would be.

Then she went back to the medical ward to try to see Fitz again. This time, she was told she could see him, but was given a debrief first, and the news was not good.

Like Fury said, he’d gone without oxygen for a few minutes. He’d had a heart attack during transport and had briefly flatlined, and was currently in a coma. Brain damage was a serious and likely possibility, but they had no way of determining how severe it was until he woke up, and they had no prognosis for when that would be, either. It could be days, weeks, months...or never. He was stable, but still in critical condition. They’d done everything they could for him to make him comfortable and nudge him toward waking, but all they could do now was wait, continue to monitor him, and hope for the best.

Jemma approached the door to his room with a certain apprehension. She’d told herself she’d take anything else as it came, but she didn’t know if she was prepared to see Fitz like this.

She gently pushed the door open and came inside, letting it shut behind her. Then she saw him, and her face crumpled as her eyes filled with tears and her heart broke into pieces.

Fitz was lying in the hospital bed surrounded by machines and monitors, hooked up to various wires and IVs, a tube running into his mouth to help him breathe. He looked so small and oddly diminished among it all, pale and impossibly fragile, like he might shatter from the lightest touch. He had always seemed so _solid_ to her, vibrant and full of life and always moving. Seeing him this still and frail was like a punch to the gut. It was _wrong_.

She came up alongside his bed, unable to look away from him, the only sound in the room the steady beeping of his heart monitor, reminding her that he was still alive. She looked down and curled her hand around his, resting still on the bed at his side. “Oh, Fitz,” she whispered, the tears spilling over, her heart ripping in two as she sank into the chair at his bedside. “Fitz, I’m so sorry.”

She hadn’t swam fast enough. She hadn’t gotten him to the surface in time, and now here he was, fighting for his life. She broke into sobs, leaning forward to press her forehead against his hand, wishing for all the world that she could take his place, that she could wake him up and make everything better. She wished that this was all just a bad dream, that she could wake up and Fitz would be whole and healthy next to her, as he should be.

She cried herself out there, until her tears ran dry and she was almost asleep with her head pillowed on the mattress at Fitz’s side, her hand still holding onto his, when a nurse came in.

“Your team is due to land in a few minutes,” she said. “I thought you might like to go out and meet them.”

Jemma sat up, rubbing at her face, and gave a slight nod. Truthfully, she never wanted to leave this room again, but the team deserved to hear about Fitz firsthand, from her. So she stood, straightening her clothes, then leaned over to gently brush her hand through Fitz’s hair and press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” she whispered. “I love you.”

She was in the Playground’s cavernous hangar, waiting, when the Bus landed several minutes later. It was nice to see the plane back with its rightful owners, but it was bittersweet, too. This was where she and Fitz had had some of their best memories...but also some of their worst, now.

She approached the cargo bay ramp as it lowered, her hands clasped in front of her. Coulson, May, Skye, and Trip were already waiting to walk down it. Skye was the first to reach her, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug and sighing in relief. Coulson came next, resting a hand on her shoulder and giving her a concerned look that pained her for how caring it was.

“Fitz,” Skye said, releasing her and taking a step back. “Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay.”

Jemma looked back at her, at all of them, not knowing how to tell them just how dire it really was. They looked so hopeful. In the end, all she could do was tell them the unvarnished truth, and hope they wouldn’t ask for more until she could show them.

“He’s alive,” she said, and tried to smile.

And that was all she had wanted. The rest, she was determined to face as best they could. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are at the end! Thanks for coming along for the ride with us! We've got a full season 2 sequel that we plan on posting soon, so watch this space! In the meantime, come visit us on Tumblr @ eclecticmuses and mrsleopoldfitz.


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